


Heat Stroke

by cleo4u2, xantissa



Series: Heat Wave [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, Action/Adventure, Alpha!Steve, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternative Meeting, Angst, First Meetings, First Time, Knotting, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Omega!Bucky, Over stimulation, Rutting, Scent Marking, Slow Burn, Slowest of the burn, Switching, Wordcount: Over 200.000, heat - Freeform, multiple POVs, reference to forced bonding, references to past rape, references to past torture, winter soldier - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-08-15 20:17:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 243,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8071240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleo4u2/pseuds/cleo4u2, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xantissa/pseuds/xantissa
Summary: Captain America and the Winter Soldier meet for the first time in 2015. Now Bucky, after years of torture at Hydra's and more as a prisoner of S.H.I.E.L.D., is being given the chance to gain his freedom. All he has to do, is complete a mission with a team he can't stand while following the orders of yet another pompous, controlling Alpha. Steve thinks he can get his team through their most difficult mission to date, so long as he can get the smell of the Winter Soldier's heat out of his nose.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Неутолимый жар](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14178099) by [Blacki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blacki/pseuds/Blacki)



> Our wonderful, irreplaceable beta is [NurseDarry](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7782292/chapters/17751652); all hail the endlessly patient woman.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Look at the art! ](http://cobaltmoony.tumblr.com/post/151141405104/cobaltmoony-its-long-overdue-for-me-to-draw-a>Omega!Bucky%20Fanart!!)

The helicopter landed on the exposed flight deck without a bump despite the pitch and roll of the deck thanks to the high winds and higher waves. Maria Hill doesn't look as the platform they’re on began to descend into the belly of the Raft prison. She didn’t look back until they stopped and Nick Fury pulled open the chopper’s door, just monitored her instruments and kept the rotors moving. It was unlikely they’d need to make a speedy exit, but Agent Hill was never one to be caught unprepared.

Fury wasn’t either, but no one saw the Winter Soldier coming. The death left in his wake, the ripple through S.H.I.E.L.D. as they discovered Hydra was not only alive and well, but thriving inside their own walls, had been impossible to predict. To say he left a trail of destruction in his path wasn’t accurate enough. There were close to a thousand men and women dead, safe houses and equipment worth tens of millions of dollars utterly destroyed, and more secrets than Fury could shake a stick at floating in the wind. All because Hydra had lost control of their weapon and the Winter Soldier had come seeking vengeance for what they’d done to him.

Though he had been sympathetic to the Winter Soldier’s tale, even Fury had to stop his murder spree. It had taken everything S.H.I.E.L.D. had left to capture the Winter Soldier. More good men and women had been lost in the process. Fury still had nightmares about that last battle, but they had him, and they’d built a place to put him.

The Raft was the most state-of-the-art prison that money could buy. Submerged beneath the ocean, it held the worst of the worst, the ‘enhanced’ people that had been cropping up on S.H.I.E.L.D.’s radar, and not in a good way. The cells were impenetrable, the guards incorruptible, and the prison itself impossible to access without permission. At least, that was the hope. The only hope the world had of keeping the Winter Soldier locked away.

Fury thought they should have just killed him, but it wasn’t his call. Wasn’t right, said one World Security Council member. The Winter Soldier was too valuable, said another. Fury hadn’t liked the sound of that, but he’d done as he was told. He’d built a prison and now was visiting his prisoner.

Outside the cell, Fury stared at the man sitting on the bare mattress on the floor of the equally bare, cramped, high security cell. His hair was messy but clean, shoulder length. There was significant stubble on his cheeks as the prisoners were only allowed to shave twice a week. His body was powerful, heavy and hard, even in the garish orange jumpsuit. The distinctive left metal arm was detailed with its articulation, as natural as the flesh, resting on his upraised knee, except for the metal sheen.

Watching this obviously powerful man, who was obviously comfortable in his body, it was hard to reconcile him with the knowledge that he was an Omega. Even harder was that the Raft’s doctors claimed he was in heat. It was strange, almost uncomfortable, to be looking at a man this big, a man intentionally built for combat, and know he was an Omega. An omega in _heat_. 

A lot of Fury’s expectations came from stereotypes; he was aware of that, but it didn’t change the fact that stereotypes came from somewhere. Most Omegas tended to avoid physical violence. They were usually smaller than Alphas, too. It wasn’t just his sense of entitlement talking, it was a biological fact. Alphas tended to produce more testosterone and that pushed them to be more physical. They had a natural propensity towards physical activity: sports, martial arts, anything that let them express their inborn urge to dominate. Historically, Alphas were better at these because they were more competitive and driven. Omegas performed better in areas that required a calmer mindset. Academics, intellectual and creative pursuits was their purview.

As per Fury’s request, and the Council’s orders, the prisoner hadn’t been offered any suppressants for the last six months to deal with his monthly heats. Their frequency was astounding. Omegas generally only went into heat once or twice a year, proving that Hydra had modified most, if not all the Winter Soldier’s body without his consent. Now, even with nothing to alleviate the symptoms, the Omega appeared unaffected. 

There were no signs of his condition beyond the slightly elevated heartbeat recorded by the monitor outside the cell. He wasn’t flushed, or distracted, or even trying to take off his clothes. He wasn't scenting the air, subconsciously looking for a good partner, or trying to ease the ache inside. Fury wondered if it was because the doctors had it wrong and he wasn’t in heat at all, or if the man just had an iron control over himself.

Fury prided himself on his self-control, on his ability to resist any Omega’s heat. Yet the sheer number of incidents involving this prisoner in the six months they’d had him captive made it clear relying solely on self-control would be foolish. Before arriving, he had used drugs to dull his senses, yet the moment the door to the cell slid open, Fury nearly stumbled as his body reacted. It was worse than any whorehouse in that cell, the pheromones so thick in the air, his heart beat double-time despite all the suppressants and sedatives he had swimming in his bloodstream.

The Winter Soldier was sitting on the thin mattress they had provided him, not even standing as the cell door came down. One look and Fury knew six months of incarceration hadn’t done jack shit to change his attitude. An attitude that consisted mostly of challenge and bloody-minded murder.

“Six months, huh?” the Winter Soldier mused, from his seat. He was lazing against the wall, staring at the ceiling and barely shot a glance Fury’s way. The Omega’s grey eyes flicked over Fury’s body, from his scarred face, over his wide shoulders, and down to his legs before flicking away, expression bland and uninterested.

It was _offensive_. Fury knew it was just his pride, but still it stung. An Omega in heat should never look at Fury, an Alpha strong and dominant, and dismiss him in a single moment. 

“I have a deal for you,” Fury said, ignoring how he still smarted at the casual dismissal. “Sergeant Barnes,” he added, revealing his hand way too early, and not caring as much as he should. The words at least got him an reaction. It wasn’t as sharp as he’d expected, as pronounced, but it was there. The prisoner flinched. Slightly, but enough to confirm S.H.I.E.L.D.’s suspicions were correct. 

“It wasn’t easy, tracking down your real name,” Fury went on, sure now that he had the upper hand. “Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th, a World War II prisoner of war, captured in 1941 by Hydra.”

“And now a prisoner of my own government,” the Winter Soldier said slowly, too calmly. “The same government that left me to rot in Azzano.” 

That took the wind right out of Fury’s sails. The plan to entice an American POW to cooperate by offering him back his name and respect shot clear out of the water. The only upside was the undeniable proof that the Winter Soldier’s memory was intact. Unfortunately, it also meant they it wouldn’t be easy to manipulate him. Hydra files claimed he hadn’t aged a day since his capture, and he would have more experience with those memories than Fury had expected.

“You do realise,” Fury said, changing tactics, “that if you don’t cooperate we’ll just keep you locked up forever? I can guarantee it will not be a pleasant stay.”

The prisoner _chuckled_. The sound of it was warm and rich, building and building. His body was shaking with mirth, lips parted, wet and full. Fury was helplessly staring at him, wanting him. Then the Winter Soldier threw his head back in a full deep laugh. But it was a rusty, bitter sound that sent shivers down Fury’s back.

“You think you can do better than Hydra?” the Winter Soldier asked once he had quieted, returned to that deceptively relaxed stance. He snickered again, a small and nasty sound. “What am I saying, you’re practically Hydra anyway. Right, Nicholas J. Fury?”

“Thanks to your...efforts, Hydra is no longer a problem. We’ve cleaned them out from S.H.I.E.L.D. and are continuing the effort throughout the world. It’s a shame we can’t reward you for that, seeing as you thought it best to include so many casualties along the way.”

“Reward me?” the Winter Soldier sneered. “You mean control me. Trust me, Nick, none of this,” he motioned around the cell, “is anything new. No suppressants?” He shrugged indifferently. “Next is either outright torture, or you trying to force a bond on me. Which one is it, Nicky?”

Fury narrowed his good eye, but didn’t answer. 

“The thing is,” the Soldier said quietly, tilting his head back to rest against the wall and staring into the middle distance, not even bothering to look at Fury. “I have time.” 

From the pocket of his extremely unflattering orange jumpsuit, the Soldier pulled a packet of cigarettes, a lighter, and lit one up. Prisoners weren’t supposed to have cigarettes at the Raft, let alone lighters, but this man somehow managed to get his hands on some anyway. That was the problem with jailing the Winter Soldier. Sooner or later he would get out. He knew it, Fury knew it; everyone _knew_ it, and there didn’t seem to be a way to stop the inevitable.

“You can hold he me here for five, ten, fifteen years…” the Soldier exhaled the smoke toward the ceiling, “It doesn’t matter. I won’t get older, while you will. You’ll retire or somebody who gives you orders will retire. There will be changes, there are always changes. Sooner or later somebody will come here, to stand where you stand now, and offer me a deal.”

The Soldier exhaled another plume of smoke, shifting a little, and Fury was a little sick at himself that he noticed the way the orange cloth stretched over the hard muscles of his thighs. 

“They won’t really remember, but I will.” This time the Soldier looked at Fury, looked him right in the eye. “I will remember the names of my jailors, the names of those who took away my freedom, and I will make them pay. I will track them down. I will track down their whole damn families and erase their bloodlines from existence. You want to torture me? Break me? Go ahead and try, but remember that whatever you do to me, I will revisit on you and yours.”

“You think we can’t break you?” Fury shot back. He wasn’t a fan of torture, found the whole practice rather unpalatable, but he wasn’t naive. If someone gave the order, they would break him.

The Soldier laughed at him, white teeth gleaming in the artificial light as the man threw his head back again. The hand holding the cigarette shook with his uncontrolled mirth. Fury hated the part of himself that found the sight so attractive.

“Hydra had five decades of breaking me down and I was the one who came out on top. You really think anything you can imagine will scare me?”

Ultimately, that was the heart of the problem that was the Winter Soldier. They couldn't scare him, because there was very little, if anything that they could do that Hydra hadn’t already done. The fact that the Soldier killed hundreds of Hydra agents only proved that torture was ineffective on this man in long term. And it would have to be long term. The serum variant in the Winter Soldier’s veins meant he wasn’t aging. They could keep him locked up in here, but he was right. Eventually, he could out-wait them all.


	2. Chapter 2

\----  
Chapter 1

Three years later.

\----

The Agents who were escorting Bucky’s parade through the new S.H.E.I.L.D. headquarters pushed open the set of double doors at the end of the hall. They held them open as Bucky was led through by his Beta guard. Already his heat scent had caught the noses of several Alphas who were milling behind them, following like lost puppies.

In the room itself were even more Alphas. Fury, a dark-haired female, and several other Agents he didn’t care about, stood in the center just past the doors, waiting for him. Off to the left, at the far end of the bland, furniture-free room, were three more Agents standing before a closed door. They were Omegas or Betas from the way they didn’t even stop their hushed conversation as he was marched inside, but important enough they didn’t have to stand with Fury.

Bucky wouldn’t have paid them any mind, except they were whispering about him. 

“So this is the Omega Fury’s been trying to get you to breed?" 

The redhead, small, beautiful, and deadly in a way he thought seemed familiar, looked up at the tall blond man at her side as she murmured to him. He was easily the largest man in the room, but he hadn’t twitched or gone glazed-eyed at Bucky’s scent. Looked like an Alpha, but he couldn’t be; he wasn’t acting right. Then again, Fury’s games were always with powerful Alphas. As if size and strength were all it took to make Bucky part his legs and submit.

“Rape, Nat,” Alpha Blond corrected easily, his voice low enough only Bucky’s enhanced hearing allowed him to hear, “Then manipulate.”

“Seriously?” the man to the big man’s right demanded, looking up at Alpha Blond over his red sunglasses. “Has Fury _met_ you?”

Bucky didn’t glance over again, though he wanted to get a better look at the three now. 

“You’d think an employer would want to get to know his employees,” Alpha Blond said in a dry tone that irritated Bucky with how unaffected it was. 

Taking a breath, Bucky purposely increased his heart rate, knowing a spike in blood flow would cause a corresponding jump in hormone production. The amount of pheromones his scent glands were releasing doubled. No Alpha was going to make sarcastic jokes so casually in his presence. 

Immediately he heard a commotion behind him. At least one of the Alphas following him lost his shit, probably being restrained by the guards. Even the Beta guards were getting twitchy. Bucky just kept staring straight ahead, his face as blank as he could make it. Years of being tortured by Hydra ensured his game face was unbreakable. 

From the corner of his eye, Bucky saw Alpha Blond twitch, his nostrils flaring for a moment and he turned to look. Bucky felt his lips try to curl up in a bitter, pleased smile as he was proven right once again. Alphas, all of them, were nothing more than rutting animals with even less control. For a moment, Alpha Blond’s eyes focused on him, catching his gaze and holding. Not sliding down his body, the way the other Alphas’ gazes had, to hang on Bucky’s ass. 

Then Alpha Blond’s eyes glanced over his shoulder, to the commotion behind him, and he looked distinctly displeased. Bucky wanted to bare his teeth and snarl, wanted to break the cuffs on his wrists and slam his metal first into the man’s perfectly proportioned, clean-shaven face. Hit it until he was bruised and broken and spitting blood. 

He should not have been able to look away.

“That’s it?” A short Omega blurted, staring up at his companion. “Do you even _have_ a sex drive?”

“Shut up, Tony,” Alpha Blond muttered, his voice no longer quite so flippant, but still too calm.

Bucky growled quietly and let his heartbeat jump a little more, so that he was overheating and sweating in his jumpsuit. Both his sweat and scent glands went into overdrive. Licking his lips, he waited for the first chink in his guards formation. They were Beta, shifting from side to side, eager to get away from him. Unconformable with so many pheromones in one space. There were too many Alphas and, provided they weren’t as fucking controlled as the blond one, at least one would try to establish dominance, or even try to _breed_ him. 

Bucky had the fucking unstoppable urge to take apart an Alpha with his bare hands in front of such an interested audience.

“Fucking hell,” he heard from his left. A breathless male voice. “Just let me at him, I’ll…”

Bucky turned his head, his eyes flat, but lips stretching out in an obscene grin that showed all his teeth.

“You’ll what?” he asked the man, who he noticed wore a suit, raising his eyebrows and licking his lips, tilting his head back a little and letting the man see his neck, goading him _closer_. Let him come. Please, let him come within his range and he would…

“Clear out,” Fury’s voice barked, cutting through the tension rising in the room. “Agent Hill, see that everyone except the Avengers is escorted out. Gentlemen,” he said, addressing Bucky’s guards, “Please wait for us outside.”

Bucky stared, feeling oddly sullen as the room was cleared of the other Alphas. He had been hoping somebody would come into range. When he noticed Alpha Blond staring at him, a frown between his brows, Bucky smirked, raising his heavily cuffed hands to his mouth. Licking the side of his right thumb, he made a show of slowly drawing a number one in the air, not even trying to hide his smirk. Let them come. Let them fucking come for him.

“Well,” the Omega named Tony muttered, “that was anticlimactic. Nat, can you make Alphas hop to like that?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Tony,” the redhead murmured.

“I would, yes, that’s why I asked. Generally, that’s why people ask questions,” Tony sounded both amused and put off at the same time; an altogether curious combination.

“Director,” Alpha Blond spoke up over his friends, loud enough his voice finally carried properly. He wasn’t clearing out so they must have been the Avengers Fury spoke of, “are you sure there’s no one else? This is…”

“Unprofessional?” Tony spoke up, taking his cue from the Alpha and no longer whispering. “Distracting? Steve, are you distracted?”

_Steve_ looked away from Bucky again, down at Tony. The Omega sighed and rolled his eyes. He thought he saw ‘Nat’s’ lips twitch up at the corners.

“Of course you’re not.”

Well, Bucky would just have to fix that, wouldn’t he?

“It’s unprofessional,” Steve said evenly. “We don’t require a fourth to deal with this mission. Certainly not someone with attitude and authority issues.”

Bucky barely resisted snorting out loud. If they were bringing him in, it meant that shit had really hit the fan, and the Alpha Steve was clearly unaware of it. There were very few things that would make S.H.I.E.L.D. risk letting the Winter Soldier step even one foot outside the Raft.

“The World Security Council disagrees,” Fury said tightly. “You will as well, Captain, once you’ve been briefed. Before that, I thought it best you see what James Barnes here can do.”

This time, Bucky didn’t bother hiding his displeasure. Baring his teeth at Fury, he showed what he thought of the manipulation. Not with him, no, but with yet another Alpha the man thought could tame him. When he flicked his gaze towards the Alpha in question, planning to show the giant ass what he thought of that, Bucky found Steve’s eyes away from him _again_ , lips drawn down in displeasure as he as well had spotted the manipulation for what it was.

Behind the Alpha, Tony leaned over to Nat and muttered softly, “Is it just me, or is Fury slipping in his old age?”

“Steve,” Nat hissed tightly, ignoring Tony, but keeping her voice low. “Be careful. That’s the Winter Soldier. He has hundreds of kills to his name, his level of enhancement is easily equal to yours. You can’t afford to underestimate him, Omega or not, and he’s known for being especially brutal with Alphas.”

Steve’s gaze switched to her and he _smiled_. Damn him.

“Did I underestimate either you, or Tony?” he asked just as quietly. “I’m reckless, not stupid.”

“If you’re done,” Fury interrupted their hushed conversation. He, at least, was sweating. “James, this is Captain Rogers, leader of the Avengers, on loan to S.H.I.E.L.D. from the D.O.D. Tony Stark, an Avenger -”

“Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist,” Tony interjected.

“- and Agent Natasha Romanov, also an Avenger. Should you pass muster, you will be joining their team for a mission.”

Bucky snorted, not even trying not to look contemptuous. It wasn’t like Bucky had TV in his cell. Why were they acting like he should know who ‘the Avengers’ were?

“And what, exactly are Avengers?” 

“Our last line of defense,” Fury said, cryptically and completely unhelpfully.

“We stop people like you,” the redhead said evenly, unafraid to meet his gaze though she seemed to be the only one here who respected his abilities. 

“And yet here I am,” Bucky said quietly, “One foot already out the door because there’s something you obviously can’t deal with alone.”

“Not our call,” the Captain said conversationally. “We stop you, the rest is in the hands of others. Our job - possibly your job - is to be there when enhanced individuals break the law, to go where normal humans can’t.”

Bucky noticed that he took pains not to threaten him. It was an odd thing to do for an Alpha, not trying to push his advantage as far as it would go. Not trying to intimidate, just explaining how things were.

“So keep that in mind when your other foot makes it out the door,” Tony chirped. 

Bucky nearly laughed the man in the face.

“You think you scare me?”

“It’s rare the people we’re sent after are afraid, so no,” Tony said easily, apparently unconcerned that Bucky held him and the others in contempt.

“You wouldn’t be the first after me, or the last, but in the end, I’m the one left standing.”

“We’re still standing,” Tony said, looking up at the Captain, “We are standing, right?”

Rolling his eyes, the Captain placed his hand on the Omega’s shoulder to quiet him.

“We’re not the enemies here,” Steve said firmly, then turned to Fury. “Is there a reason Clint isn’t here?”

“Agent Barton will not be accompanying you on this mission. It’s too dangerous.”

The Captain’s eyebrows drew together, but he didn’t question the statement.

“Let’s get this show on the road then, shall we?” Fury asked rhetorically.

Motioning with his hand, he led them through the door across the room from ‘the Avengers’. This room was small, about a third of the size of the last. Against the wall to the left was a table on which sat several handguns, knives in varying sizes, a few blunt instruments, and more variety of rifle than Bucky could shake a stick at. Across from the original door, was another, made of steel. Beside it was a large window, crisscrossed with wire, through which he could see a long darkened corridor.

Fury motioned to Bucky’s hands and he raised the cuffs with a half-smirk the Director didn’t acknowledge as he tapped in the code. With the cuffs off, Bucky rubbed his wrists as Fury motioned to the table.

“If you’ll demonstrate for the Captain your skill set? You can choose three weapons.”

“Apparently,” Tony said lowly. They were still whispering even more quietly now, having slipped into the back of the tiny room to give Fury and Bucky as much space as possible. “It’s Fury you should be warning.”

“This is ridiculous,” Steve muttered in agreement. “Are those live rounds?”

“Fury wouldn’t,” Nat whispered, then shifted uncomfortably. “Right?”

“Give a loaded gun to a highly dangerous prisoner?” Tony muttered. “That’s really more Steve’s speed, but it’s a new day, new surprises.”

Steve rolled his eyes.

“Reckless, not stupid,” he repeated, joking again. 

Gritting his teeth, Bucky stepped forward and picked up the first handgun, a Glock 17, polymer-firmed, 9mm, semi-automatic with all the typical features: slide, clip, safety and trigger guard that looked halfway decent. It was small which suited him well, considering the space he was going to work in, but still had enough power to get any job done. Without having to search, he ejected the clip, verified full 15 rounds of ammo, and slid it back in. The sensors in his left arm were amping up sensitivity even before touched the gun, and it easily picked up the slight grate when the clip slid in. He put the gun back down, not wanting to risk a jam in the middle of the action.

There was a Glock 28 lying at the end of the table, almost hidden by the array of rifles. Internally he snorted at the amount of heavy firearms on display. What was he gonna do with them in an enclosed space? Kill himself with the ricochet? The second handgun was a little heavier, the grip larger and sitting more comfortably in his metal hand. The sensors in his palm didn’t detect any anomalies when he released the clip and put it back in, checked the slide, and ejected a round. Not likely to jam.

Each handgun sat next to four spare clips and he took them all, slipping them into his pockets. The weight was off, and he silently cursed how loose they were. He ran the risk of losing them once in motion, but there wasn’t a change of clothing in sight.

Again forgoing the array of increasingly larger caliber weapons available, Bucky eyed the available knives. Selecting two seven-inch blades with a razor’s edge, he flipped first one, then the second in his hand. The balance was good, but not great. Bucky wondered if Fury had deliberately given him low quality weapons or if S.H.I.E.L.D. simply didn’t know what they were doing.

Irked that they had even offered _this_ to him, as if he was some grunt, unaware of the danger of firing a gun in a closed space, Bucky didn’t even glance at the rest of the weapons. As if he couldn’t see the walls past the door were reinforced. As if he hadn’t been the one of the world's best assassins. 

“One of you explain to me what he’s doing,” the Omega, Tony, demanded in a whisper.

“You were an arms dealer,” Steve said, a note of incredulousness to his tone, “How do you not know what he’s doing?”

“But he’s ignoring the best and prettiest toys!” Tony protested.

Steve groaned loudly, not even trying to pretend they weren’t talking about him.

“Tony, please, what do you think those ‘pretty’ toys are going to do in in here with steel-reinforced concrete?”

“Ah,” Tony said, sounding almost ashamed. Almost. “Right.”

“Remember,” Steve asked quickly, “when you asked why I never take you on covert missions? That’s why. Your first instinct is to use the biggest, shiniest, most destructive toy and damn the consequences.”

Tony huffed petulantly.

“Shut up, Rogers. I’m your first string and you know it.”

Steve snorted. 

“You have eight minutes to reach your target,” Fury declared, pointing at the steel door, “starting when this opens. You are to retrieve the red ball on the other side of the room. Captain, if you don’t mind, we can watch from the observation room.”

“I mind,” Steve said, somehow polite, despite the complete refusal. “I’d rather watch from here.”

Steve motioned to the window. Bucky glanced back at him, then through the window. The observation room would likely be full of cameras, showing every angle anyone could hope to watch Bucky’s progress through the room. Potentially too many angles. From here, Steve could mostly see what Bucky saw. It was the choice he would have made. Interesting.

Saving some face, Fury didn’t insist, but walked back out the door they’d entered. 

Bucky turned to the Alpha and showed his teeth in a mockery of smile. He made sure to tilt his head back and expose his neck, feeling a sense of triumph when the man’s eyes slid to his pulse and stayed there. He ignored the way it made his own pulse spike momentarily. It was just his heat talking, the stupid body getting all excited because an Alpha was near.

“This feels awkward. Usually private dances are, you know, private.” 

Bucky put as much dirty innuendo as he could into the words. He learned long ago that humans were essentially animals, especially when it came to sex. He was going to deliberately do everything he could to keep an Alpha’s mind firmly on the sex, because it always made them blind to all the other shit he was doing.

The blue eyes returned to Bucky’s face.

“You’re not the choice of partner I’d have made.”

“He meant a lap dance, Cap,” Tony clarified.

The Alpha’s attention was instantly diverted to the man.

“A what dance?”

“Don’t explain,” the woman demanded.

Bucky snorted, turning towards the door indicated earlier by Fury.

“You know I can just Google it later,” Steve pressed, apparently ignoring him in kind.

“Good for you,” she replied, not giving an inch. Good for her.

Bucky raised his hand to his mouth and gave his thumb a little kitten lick, feeling every eye in the room focus on him again. He grinned and gave a sloppy salute with the same hand. That was much better.

“If Googling doesn't help, I could explain,” he offered in a slow drawl. “In detail.”

“Just before or after you put one of those knives between my ribs?” Alpha Blond retorted.

Bucky snorted out a sharp laugh, enjoying the focus and the way it made his blood boil. He was going to fucking murder that test.

“Some things are worth the risk,” Bucky shot back, not even pretending the Alpha wasn’t completely right.

“Or I could just buy you a strip club,” the irritating Omega spoke up, “All the strippers you wanted. You _do_ know what strippers are?”

“I know what strippers are,” Steve said without any malice. 

Bucky made a show of sniffing the air. 

“You should maybe hire one, if the right hand isn’t really cutting the deal any more.”

“That was a masterbation reference,” Tony said, as if being helpful, and Steve laughed.

“Thanks,” he said sarcastically. “Never would have gotten that one.”

The door to the training room shot open with a loud buzz. Bucky stepped forward and felt the three move behind him to the window. They’d waited until now, probably not to crowd him. That was also interesting. 

“Aren’t you left handed anyways?” Tony was saying, and Bucky tuned them out to focus on his task, but couldn't resist first flipping him the bird with his metal hand.

Stairs led out the door, down into the corridor itself, but from the doorway Bucky could see most of the floor. There were several obstacles between him and the target - walls, pillars, and piles of stuff that looked like rubble from the distance. There were also sandbags, a few nasty-looking spikes, and, as he watched, a mist began filling a portion of the room.

Bucky was far more interested in the hidden obstacles than the obvious ones. The corridor walls were dark grey, padded with rectangles of material that was supposed to be sound-suppressing. In reality, they only distorted the observer’s vision so that he or she wouldn’t notice the small indentions where moving panels were likely installed. 

Live ammunition, Alpha Blond had said.

Without any warning, the lights went off, plunging the whole room into pitch blackness. Bucky had managed to fix into his mind the positions of most of the hidden panels, but this was still...irritating, especially as he didn’t know what they were hiding. Not bothering to hide it, Bucky sighed. He was going to have to sacrifice at least one of his knives, and he didn’t like it.

Slipping down the stairs, the stopped at the last one and threw the knife at the corner of the room he had chosen earlier. He didn’t hear the panels open, the machinery too quiet, but the darkness was shattered by the muzzle flashes of mounted guns spitting out bullets in the wake of his throw. Bucky stared, watching and listening. There were at six, scattered throughout the room. There was a pattern to the flashes; the clap, explosion of the guns too loud without anything to protect his ears; the tinny clatter of the spent cartridges hitting the reinforced floor; and the softer pattern of crumbling plaster as the wall took the damage. Fixing that pattern firmly in his mind, estimating the speed at which the turrets were turning, he waited for the gunfire to fade and grinned.

The weakness was immediately apparent. The machinery could only move in a single direction at once, following one target at a time. If he timed it right, Bucky could move fast enough to keep himself in the shadow of the moving guns. It would cost him his second knife, and he would be cutting it close with the first turret. By the time Bucky reached the wall, it would be at the end of its arch and turning back. If he had gotten the angle wrong, or mistimed the speed of the turrets, Bucky would be sporting a new set of holes, and they wouldn’t be piercings.

Pulling the second knife out, Bucky threw it in the same direction as the first and launched himself in the knife’s wake. He could feel the air moving as the bullets passed through the space inches in front of him, the tremble in the concrete as the spent cartridges spilled to the ground. With the first imprint of the corridor fixed in his mind, he avoiding the room’s obstacles as he sprinted. Never breaking his stride, he followed the path the knife had taken without error, keeping his heart rate slow and even.

The quiet ‘plink’ of the knife hitting the wall sounded beneath the clatter of falling brass and pummeled concrete. Bucky had a split second to perform a tight turn in the air, facing back the way he had come, and let his back connect with the corner of an obstacle wall. Metal arm already coming up, the right drawing his Glock, both angled for the same position at the first gun turret. He spread his metal fingers out and locked them, making himself absolutely still. 

A second later, Bucky felt the bullets ping off his metal palm. Calming his breathing, he hoped his assumption that the guns were motion triggered was correct. The he pulled the trigger, aiming for the source of the last bullet to strike his hand. The weapon discharging was shockingly loud in the suddenly quiet room. There was a sharp, metallic sound, a deep grinding, and then a louder explosion. Shrapnel sailed outward and Bucky grinned fiercely, his bullet having lodged in the turret’s barrel. 

Carefully shifting his weight, Bucky felt the blade he had thrown at the wall shift beneath his left shoe. He was going to need it again, he was sure. From his position in the corner, he could take down two more turrets, but it would require him moving both his arms to re-aim. He might have been able to, but the possibility that the movement would trigger the remaining five turrets was high. He was only half a wall from his target, but he couldn’t take that path as it went straight through a line of fire even he couldn’t dodge.

Taking a measured breath, Bucky reoriented himself in the dark room and called back the image of it from before the lights had gone out. He combined that image with the imagined range and location of the turrets. The guns had to have been positioned so they wouldn’t shoot each other, so there had to be blind spots. Likely, they wouldn’t be on a full motion axis, either, just one that swept from left to right. If he could get to the top of a pillar to his left, he had a fair chance at disabling two more turrets. Assuming he could climb the pillar fast enough not to die.

Taking another measured breath, Bucky kicked the knife across the floor; this time, he wouldn’t be getting it back. Then he launched himself after it once more. The remaining five guns spat fire, chasing the knife ahead of him. When he reached the pillar, Bucky slammed his metal fist into the reinforced concrete, sinking it wrist-deep into the stone.

Not allowing himself to think how much it would hurt, Bucky kicked off the floor, reversing his momentum and using the hand embedded in the pillar as a pivot point to flip himself over until his back slapped against the pillar. He wrapped his thighs around the column, his metal shoulder pulling mercilessly at flesh and bone in complaint of the unnatural angle. The flesh shoulder would have been dislocated if he’d tried anything like this with it. 

Dismissing the pain, Bucky pulled his hand free and, using only his abdominal muscles, pulled himself up to wrap around the pillar and take an easier climbing hold. Three quick pulls and he was almost at the ceiling, fingers on his left hand digging into the concrete to keep him in place. The right still held the gun and he aimed it now for the turret that could actually shoot him down from his perch if he was wrong about the axis mount.

Bucky didn’t find out if he was. The second turret suffered the same fate of the first, exploding as he obstructed the barrel.

Gingerly, Bucky leaned around the pillar and took aim at the third turret. The angle left him hanging sideways, only upright by the strength of his legs and left arm. It left him with zero cover. The first shot missed, the sound of the bullet hitting the reinforced wall sharp and a far cry from the sound of a successful strike. Hissing an irritated breath, he fired again. 

The next three shots missed. Bucky had never failed so spectacularly. Either the turret was now in a different location, or the barrel was tilted so he couldn’t actually shoot down it. That he was still alive and unharmed meant he was right about the positioning of the turrets. Therefore, barrel was tilted away from him. Just peachy.

Bucky stopped trying to take the shot and imagined the way the turrets followed his knives, the angles they had held while tracking movement. When he had first looked at the walls, they were smooth, meaning the guns were normally hidden behind them. There was either a hidden panel sliding open to allow the barrels to fire into the room, the guns themselves in a fixed position, or the turrets themselves were on some kind of mechanism that lifted them through the same panel that had concealed them. With the range of motion these turrets had, it couldn’t be the former. The latter option was more likely. And where there were moving parts, there were electronics. Electronics that he could damage. 

Adjusting his aim, Bucky directed it under the imagined turret barrel and fired. By the fifth shot, there was a hiss and a flash, and the axis mount, or lift mechanism started sparking and whining dangerously. 

With only five rounds left and four minutes to go. Bucky pressed his chest to the pillar and let go with his metal hand while locking his thighs in place. The edges dug into his muscles, already oversensitive from his heat, but he ignored the discomfort and reached for a new clip. Thankfully all of them were still in his pockets. 

Raising the gun to his face, Bucky released the clip and caught it with his teeth. Almost empty or no, it would still be useful. With the old clip between his teeth, he slid the new one into place. Now with his left hand free, he took the old clip and threw it in a gentle arc at the corner he had come from.

Not a single gun fired.

Now he had the whole corner clear of fire. Jumping down from the pillar, Bucky landed softly on his feet and cursed his prison-issue shoes as they tried to skid on the concret. The soft soles of the sneakers had no grip. Removing them didn’t seem like the best idea, so he walked slowly back to the corner he had stopped at first, swiping his feet in arcs, hoping to find the first knife. Instead his foot connected with the used clip. 

It was better than nothing.

Bringing the image of the room back to mind, Bucky plotted his next move. He could avoid the fourth turret completely if he stayed close to cover, but the fifth and sixth had to be dealt with. They were also the last set of visible obstacles in his path to the target.

Tucking the used clip into a pocket, Bucky turned and ran back toward the pillar. Leaping, he planted his foot against the side, pushed and flipped himself over a short wall that lay five feet behind him. He crouched as he landed and bullets slammed into the wall from the other side. 

Ahead of him, the fifth turret was blinded by another pillar so long as he stayed behind it. Keeping in its blind spot, however, required him to walk straight into the fire of the sixth turret. That was fine, he could deal with that the same as he’d dealt with the rest so long as there wasn’t a new threat to deal with. 

There would be a new threat to deal with.

Palming the clip, Bucky threw it hard as he could in the direction he would take to deal with the sixth turret. Gun barrels flashed, but nothing new. Except, he remembered, the path also led through that wall of mist. Drugs, maybe, something aerosol so either absorbed through the skin or lungs. Not likely the lungs; Bucky could hold his breath for ages.

Well, fuck it. There was one way to find out.

Taking a deep breath, Bucky palmed a full magazine and quietly mourned its loss before throwing it ahead of him. Then he sprinted after, straight through the mist that beaded on his skin. Instantly his body erupted as if he’d been doused in itching powder. _Everything_ itched, making his skin crawl, and yet it was nothing compared to the fire that burned under his skin during a heat. _That_ was sensation Bucky had long ago learned to ignore in order to complete his missions as Hydra’s Fist. This, more than anything, proved an Alpha had designed this obstacle, maybe even Fury himself. Any Omega should be able to ignore this distraction.

At the end of his sprint, Bucky rolled, aimed, and sent a single round to obliterate the sixth turret. Then he was climbing the pillar, taking more time before leaning out and around to shoot out the fifth turret. His path clear, he dropped back to the ground - thankfully did _not_ slip and ruin his amazing finish - and waltzed to pick up the red ball. 

The lights came on with a snap, showing the destruction left behind in the wake of his passage. Through the window, he could see Alpha Blond and his two flanking Omegas, staring at him. Smirking, he gave a short bow from the waist and started back towards the entrance as the door swung open.

“Did he just beat your course time?” the redheaded woman asked.

“Of course he did,” Steve muttered, sounding thoughtful, “Even I’m not that reckless.”

“Someone more reckless than you?” Tony teased. “I didn’t know they made them that way.”

“Neither did I,” Steve said dryly. “Natasha, what did you think?”

“It’s not how I would have done it.”

“Something helpful, please?”

She paused.

“He’s almost as good a shot as Clint. Clearly he can think on the fly, memorize a layout at a glance, and we won’t have to worry about him getting stuck down a well.”

“But?” Steve prompted.

“You’re thinking it already.”

Steve grunted.

“What?” Tony demanded.

“Solo artist,” Steve said, lowering his voice now as Bucky made the halfway point in the room. Trying not to let him hear. Good, let them underestimate him. “A team would have ended up mulch in his wake.”

There was a pause and Tony blurted, “Have you _met_ me?”

Chuckling, Steve turned away from Bucky and clapped Tony on the shoulder.

“Remember how much I didn’t like you when we met?”

“Mm, good point.”

The door to the other room opened and Fury stepped through. Purposely, Bucky slowed his steps and, sure enough, Fury asked, “Your opinion, Captain Rogers?”

Steve didn’t give either of them a real answer.

“He’s dangerous.”

“And his abilities?” Fury prompted, clearly having dealt with Alpha Blond for some time.

“Obviously highly trained,” Steve hedged again.

Bucky couldn’t stall any longer. Climbing the stairs, he fixed a smirk on his face and decided on the perfect end to this demonstration. Making sure he had Fury’s attention, Bucky looked at the gun in his hand, his left hand, and smirked before looking back up at Fury.

“You really shouldn’t give me such sub-par toys, Fury,” he murmured and _squeezed_. 

His arm whined, fully powering up for the first time in over three years. There was a horrible screech and a grinding sound as the metal of the stock was literally squeezed out from between his fingers like warm butter. Casually, he threw the useless hunk of metal to the floor, enjoying the way everybody was staring at his arm now. Thinking, calculating, realising finally what kind of weapon they had in their grasp. Let them want, let them see what he could do, let them imagine all the things they could accomplish with him at their beck and call.

Then the fucking Alpha ruined it by muttering, “I take it back. He’s worse than you are, Tony.”

“Hey, I do not destroy shitty tools. I make them _better_ tools,” he man objected in an artificially offended voice.

“You’re both actual five-year-olds.”

“I’m hurt, Cap,” Tony pressed a hand to his heart. “The things you say about me.”

Steve snorted, dropping a hand companionably on Tony’s shoulder before finally stepping forward. Moving _closer_ , but not within range. Close enough that Bucky could smell him over his own heat. 

His smell was sharp, winter-fresh, and different than anything he’d ever encountered. There was something faintly artificial underlying that light clean scent. Something that pulled at him like no other scent ever had. It set his teeth on edge and he bared them at the man, spreading his legs and lowering his centre of gravity. He was subtle about it, but the Alpha noticed. He fucking _noticed,_ and stopped just out of reach, the frown on his face intensifying.

“Nothing here shows me he can work with a team,” Steve told Fury, finally offering a clear answer. Because he knew Bucky could hear now? That seemed...unlikely.

Bucky was about to snap about the Alphas talking around him, when Alpha Blond’s piercing blue eyes looked his way. 

“Are you even capable? All I see is a liability. You showing off, antagonizing everyone within range without cause or care.”

Bucky snorted a cold laugh.

“Team? I wasn’t brought here to be a team member.” He locked his eyes with the Alpha and stared him down as best as he could. “I was brought here because I’m expendable. Nobody, and most certainly not you will cry if I die in whatever hellhole they need me to go to.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed, then darted back to Fury. The Alpha scent abruptly intensified and he stepped aggressively forward. Not toward Bucky, no he still stayed out of Bucky’s reach, but toward Fury. The Director actually stepped backward.

Bucky stared, fascinated, and somewhat surprised, at the sudden change in room dynamics.

“No one on _my_ team is expendable,” Steve growled, low and angry. “If you’re sending us someplace dangerous, you’re not adding a _liability_ to the mission. You’re not sending someone _expendable_. We,” Steve swept a hand in a motion that oddly seemed to include Bucky, “are not your goddamn chess pieces.”

Bucky, snorted, his anger at being called a liability quenched by the second half of the Alpha’s statement. Both men’s eyes swiveled to stare at him.

“How old are you?” Bucky asked, looking Steve over from top to bottom. “Thirty? At a stretch. How many years of combat experience do you have?”

Steve’s gaze finally swept Bucky up and down, a muscle twitching in his jaw. It wasn’t the gaze of an Alpha checking out an Omega, though. It was a soldier sizing up competition. Debating on accepting a challenge. Bucky’s lips were already curling in a sneer - no Alpha ever accepted a challenge from an Omega.

“Twenty six,” Steve answered finally, “and six.”

Bucky felt…suddenly nostalgic. He couldn’t even remember how it felt to be that young. Some of the constant, fierce anger drained out of him for reasons he couldn't explain. When he answered, it was far less antagonistic than he normally was.

“I’m ninety-seven.”

“Ninety-seven?” Tony repeated behind Steve. The Captain’s gaze didn’t look impressed, or surprised.

“I have over fifty years of combat experience in the field,” Bucky went on. “I have filled every role you could imagine at one time or another.” 

It was bragging, sure, but it was true. He worked alone most of the time, but he remembered being part of a team, remembered leading a team, doing things this Alpha had never even dreamed of.

Leaning in, Steve’s posture shifted, accepting Bucky’s challenge after all. Likely because Bucky had challenged an Alpha with the suggestion an Omega could be better at combat. Bucky hoped that was the case. Hoped he could _show_ the big bastard just how much better he was. 

“Then you know exactly why I don’t want you.”

Bucky didn’t let his surprise that the statement had nothing to do with his status show.

“That statement only shows how inexperienced you really are if you require only one personality type on your team. Can’t lead a team consisting of individuals?”

“Your inability to listen proves how ill-suited you are to a team,” Steve snapped back. “Your own words, to answer my question, were you can’t work with a team. You will get my people killed.”

“Oh, but I don't see a team here, just you,” Bucky drawled. “When did you actually test my ability to work well with others?”

The Captain rolled his eyes, oozing contempt. 

“Oh, forgive me for assuming you could answer my question like an adult that understands communication. I didn’t realize you needed a _test_. By all means, show off some more.”

“This has all been a test,” Bucky said. “Just not for _your_ team.”

The Alpha frowned, taken off guard, but Bucky had realised something while they were snarking at each other. The Captain didn’t like him, but he didn’t like him based on what he had seen in the last half an hour. He wasn’t displaying any preconceived notions about his designation, that he was an Omega and therefore bound to submit to him or any of the dozens of other things Alphas did in the first five minutes of meeting an Omega that they were unaware of doing. Nothing about the Captain met Bucky’s expectations. He still wasn’t reacting to Bucky’s heat as he should, and that bothered Bucky more than he wanted to admit. The thought that he might be already bonded was…deeply unpleasant for reasons Bucky wasn’t going to admit to.

Sighing and finally deciding to play nice…er, nicer, Bucky tilted his head towards one of the hidden cameras in the room and looked the Captain straight in the eye.

“The people I’m auditioning for wouldn’t know the meaning of teamwork if it bit them on the ass. If you can’t see that there are other hands pulling the strings here, then your chances of getting out alive of wherever they’re sending us are, frankly, even worse than mine.”

Steve’s gaze slid to his left, to the Omegas standing to the side. The redhead’s hand twisted, a signal of some kind. It must have been confirmation of what Bucky said, because the Captain rounded on Fury again. The man’s scent shot through the room again, commanding and powerful. Challenging, if Fury dared to accept.

“Enough games,” the Captain growled; Fury flinched. Not accepting the challenge then. Shame. “What’s going on?”

Fury glanced at Bucky, eyeing him with both lust and irritation before motioning to the only other door that lead out of the room.

“Why don’t we start the briefing and I’ll tell you.”

Following Fury back to the first room, they found one of the other doors led to a conference room, though Bucky thought it was an odd place to put one. Then again, maybe S.H.I.E.L.D. was contracting a lot these days. Bucky had done a decent job chopping them to pieces when he’d gone for Hydra. As it was, the room was small, just big enough for maybe three more people around the wooden table. The Captain and his Omegas took the far side of the table, Fury stood at the head, pressing a button so a screen dropped down from the ceiling.

“Sit, James,” Fury ordered.

Bucky glared, spine stiffening.

“For fuck’s sake,” Steve cursed.

“Okay, maybe he’s worse than me,” Tony mumbled.

Bucky glared at the little shit, but felt his stomach twist oddly when the Captain said evenly, “Please sit, Mr. Barnes.”

Eyeing the Captain, Bucky drew out a chair, and sat. 

“Thank you.”

Bucky was not going to say ‘you’re welcome’. No way in hell. Instead he turned to Fury and waved magnanimously for him to go on. As if they hadn’t been waiting for him to sit. Both the Captain and Tony snorted. Bucky studiously did not look at them. Maybe it was petty, but he wasn’t taking orders from a fucking Alpha.

Picking up a remote on the table, Fury pressed a button and the face of an older man, dark hair going grey at the temples and watery brown eyes appeared on the screen. 

“This is Dr. Alexander Clarkson. He worked at a black site for the U.S. government researching biological weapons. Two days ago, we lost contact with the location. As per security protocols, the building was put into lockdown and a team was dispatched inside.”

Fury pressed the button again. The image of Dr. Clarkson was replaced by shaking video from a helmet camera. Someone was shouting, someone was gurgling, and a body fell to the ground. Twitching, spasming, and covered in giant yellow sores.

“They all died,” Fury said, rather dramatically Bucky thought, “Dr. Clarkson has turned the entire site into a petri dish. Anyone who goes in there will catch _something_ and die.”

“Infiltration with hazmat?” the Captain inquired.

“The next team tried that.” 

Fury nodded and hit the button again. The camera was someplace dark, a flashing red light the only illumination. Between one blink and the next, there was _something_ in the hall. Low to the ground, on all fours, canine, but without any fur. In the next instant, there was nothing but screams and gunfire.

“What the hell was that?” Tony demanded.

“We don’t know,” Fury said honestly. 

When he hit the button again, a still from the footage filled the monitor. The _thing_ definitely looked like a dog. A huge bulldog, front feet turned inward, drooling from his maw of inch-long teeth. The eyes seemed to glow, but maybe that was just the alarm. That was probably just the alarm.

The Captain’s pencil tapped the table - Bucky didn’t remember seeing him carrying one and he sure as hell hadn’t gotten it from the table - and he glanced over. A wrinkle had formed between his eyebrows, but what was really surprising was the way the two Omegas were watching him. They both looked older than the Captain’s twenty-six, but they were clearly waiting for him to speak. It was odd; neither had struck him as very submissive.

“Tony, have you fixed the suit so it has pressure seals yet?” the Captain asked absently, never taking his eyes away from the screen.

“First upgrade after that accidental journey into deep space.”

Bucky cast a glance at the male Omega. Space? Were these people insane? Or were they playing out some kind of private joke? The Captain’s serious nod didn’t make it seem like a joke.

“I assume the site is too valuable to bring in Dr. Banner?”

“Far too valuable,” Fury agreed.

Finally the Captain settled his gaze on Bucky again. 

“I don’t need a suit,” Bucky said before the Alpha could speak up. “The shit they pumped into my veins means I can’t get sick.”

For the first time, the Captain looked interested. Instead of asking _him_ , though, he turned that blue gaze on Fury, completely ignoring Bucky. How the hell was he able to do that? It had to be a bond, something powerfully strong.

“A variant on the serum?”

“Bigger and better, in all ways,” Bucky declared with a smile that was all teeth.

The Captain didn’t even glance his way.

“Dr. Erskine only gave the serum to Red Skull before he defected.”

“As far as we can tell,” Fury said, “Dr. Arnim Zola used Red Skull’s blood to synthesize his own serum a year or so after Dr. Erskine gave it to you.”

The artificial aspect of the Captain’s scent; Bucky understood it now. What he didn’t understand was how he could be twenty-six if he’d been enhanced before Bucky. The Captain didn’t look like he was going to explain, either. He turned turned to Natasha. He didn’t say anything, but she shrugged like he had asked a question.

“Perhaps. They didn’t exactly explain the history of the program to me.”

Nodding slowly, the Captain looked back to Fury. 

“Mission objectives?”

The Captain wasn’t bad, Bucky had to admit it, if somewhat reluctantly. He wielded the power he had over his team members with ease, not flaunting it unnecessarily. There were no unnecessary questions. He also caught Fury’s attention in a way that suggested Fury put a high value on his opinion. As young as he was, the Captain wasn’t as much of a greenhorn as Bucky had assumed.

“Get in, kill or capture Dr. Clarkson, and put a stop to whatever it is he’s brewing in there. We can’t say for sure, but we don’t think it will be anything we want to find out about the hard way.”

The Captain met Bucky’s gaze, that furrow still between his brows. 

“And what does he get for assisting?” he asked in a tight voice.

“We were considering allowing him heat suppressants. Should he survive the mission, that is.”

On either side of the Captain, Tony and Natasha tensed.

“Considering?” the Captain repeated, gaze returning to Fury, voice low and angry. “Meaning you’ve been denying them?”

“Allowing?” Tony echoed Steve.

Fury’s jaw tensed, but he answered, even though it was obvious he didn’t want to.

“It has been decided that it would make him easier to control if he went without them.”

“It’s torture,” Steve snapped, his hands gone white on the table’s edge, “It’s illegal.”

Bucky snorted, but the Captain didn’t even glance his way. Again.

“How long?” Tony asked from beside Steve, his voice low and artificially even.

Fury clearly did not want to answer that question, avoiding even Natasha’s gaze. Bucky remained quiet, waiting to see what the man would do? Would he lie? Would he risk Bucky exposing his lie? Or would he think that Bucky would be too afraid of retaliation to go against him? Bucky didn’t know which option would be best for him, so he waited.

When Fury didn’t answer fast enough, the Captain looked at Bucky for an answer anyway.

“How long?”

“Three-and-a-half years.”

Tony surged to his feet, mouth open to start shouting. Though she glared at Fury, Natasha didn’t move. The Captain caught Tony’s arm, making the Omega go still all at once. Bucky absently wondered if they were bonded.

“Freedom,” the Captain declared quietly.

All eyes snapped his way as if he’d shouted. Bucky wasn’t sure he quite understood what he was saying. Because it couldn’t be...what it sounded like? Right?

“That’s what he gets if he decides to assist in our mission.”

“Captain,” Fury protested but the Captain made a sharp gesture with his hand, and Fury quieted.

“If he doesn’t, and is returned to his incarceration, he will be treated with all human rights afforded to him by the Geneva convention. If he decides to assist, he will be granted freedom and immunity for all past crimes.”

Bucky didn't bother turning to look back at Fury, just kept staring at the Captain, mesmerized by the fierce set of his jaw and the anger he could see, smell, on the man. Anger for Bucky. For a man the Captain didn't know, certainly didn’t like, and couldn’t feel any attachment for.

“Captain, this man is a murderer,” Fury protested. “A _mass_ murderer.”

The Captain didn’t even blink.

“A murderer is a person,” he said with cold that belied that anger, “You’ve treated him like an animal and I promise you, worse than the world finding out what you’ve done will happen if you fight me on this.”

Tony slowly sat back down, crossed his legs and smiled.

“Fight us,” he corrected easily. “All of us. We can do the whole assemble thing, but I’ll have Pep call the lawyers, too. I mean, Cap didn’t die for Americans to act like Nazis.”

Bucky frowned. Die? The man looked plenty alive to him, with the way his uniform was hanging on for dear life to his muscles, the biceps threatening to split the sleeves apart. More than his physical features, the demand itself was attractive. The fact the Captain had even asked for his freedom was mind-blowing, but Bucky didn’t expect it to come to anything. Most likely, Bucky would be visited by Fury again when this was over. They would sit down to barter and hash out to discover if what the World Security Council was offering was worth all the trouble of risking his life.

It was good sign, though. Times were changing; the people up top were considering negotiating with him. Soon, somebody would make a miscalculation and he would be free again. Fury and the Council thought that a minor thing like the lack of suppressants and the cascading heats would break him. It didn’t, it _wouldn’t_ , he was not going to let it. Sending Alphas to his cell when they thought he was in the peak of his heat to breed him and tame him… Well, that wouldn’t work on him again. 

Probably. 

That had been Hydra’s tactic for taming him. They had tortured him to break him, then offered him perfectly nice heat partners. There was incredible cruelty in that the Alphas they sent to Bucky while he was at his most broken were all careful and gentle with him. The temporary bonds took every single time, made him obedient and and eager to please. The bond only lasted a few weeks and, by that time, his altered physiology would throw him into a heat again and the whole cycle would start over.

The effect had weakened over time as his aggression level rose. Bucky had no idea what would happen if he had unprotected sex with an Alpha during his heat again, but he wasn’t about to find out. After being more-or-less constantly in heat for as long as he could remember, Bucky could control himself without much trouble. As much as Fury wanted to control him by denying Bucky his suppressants, he had simply handed Bucky another weapon. Suppressants were nice, yeah, removed that strain, but his heat was a good way to muddle Alpha minds. Even Fury was off his game, his skin beaded with sweat and his scent spiking every so often. 

Despite his misgivings, Bucky kept watching the Captain, trying to see what made him insist on something as far fetched as his freedom. What kind of idealistic fool would even think that was possible? And why did he care? The Omegas Bucky understood, but the Captain was an Alpha. He didn’t know what it was like to go through heat. He had no idea how it felt when your body became your own worst enemy, actively working against you. How it felt when the mere whiff of an Alpha’s scent turned your legs to jelly and your mind to sex-obsessed mush. He couldn’t imagine what it was like to be treated as less than you were, as nothing more than an object to be bred. All for no other reason than you were born with a different set of organs.

“I don't have the authority to authorize that,” Fury admitted.

The Captain's eyes narrowed dangerously, but it was Natasha who spoke.

“Then you should talk to the people who can,” she said in a voice as icy as a glacier, “and remind them who’s making the demand.”

Tony twisted about, looking at Natasha.

“Are you threatening them with him,” he pointed at Steve, who was finally looking back at Bucky, his gaze even and telling him nothing, “or me. Can it be me? I want to be scary, too.”

The Captain looked away from Bucky as his lips twitched into a smile.

“You’re plenty scary, Tony. We’ll just threaten to lock you in a room with them and they’ll cave.”

“If you’re done,” Fury interrupted. “James, I’ll escort you back to your guards.”

“Tony,” the Captain said casually, “Why don’t you join them? I need to speak to Natasha privately.”

It wasn’t quite the required escort traditionally required in the ‘30s and ‘40s, but it was probably as close as the Captain could get. If he’d been born when Bucky had been, it only made sense. As much as they’d been oppressed, Omegas had been protected. When Tony got up without argument, Bucky thought that, maybe, it could be more about not trusting Fury in general than old-fashioned traditions. 

Standing, Bucky caught the Captain’s gaze again and, this time, thought that maybe Fury was the one being protected.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our wonderful, irreplaceable beta is NurseDarry; all hail the endlessly patient woman.

Chapter 02

It took Fury seven ridiculously long hours to convince the World Security Council to agree to Steve’s deal. Clearly the world wasn’t in immediate jeopardy, or more likely they had bickered over every minor detail. Some days, days like today, Steve wasn’t sure why he even still bothered with S.H.I.E.L.D. Though, if he was being honest, it was because he didn’t know what else to do with his life except fight.

Steve had spent the time with Natasha, first going over intel for their mission, then raiding the files for anything on James Barnes and the Winter Soldier. What they had found made him sick. Torture, manipulation through rape and temporary bonds, murder and experimentation. The metal arm was, according to Tony, a work of art. More advanced than should have been possible when it was attached to Sergeant - Steve was livid; the man had been an American POW! - Barnes. 

The most disturbing part to Steve, though, had been the way Hydra had manipulated the Winter Soldier’s heats to cycle every month, instead of once or twice a year like most Omegas. He had been at their mercy, tortured and then raped so he’d bond with his Alpha handlers and did whatever they’d wanted. The so-called mass murder spree he had gone on afterwards seemed more than justified to Steve.

Another hour lapsed as Tony had his lawyers ensure the contract S.H.I.E.L.D. drew up was as loophole-free as possible, and Steve was winging his way to the Raft to deliver the news in person. There were some conditions, but they weren’t anything Steve would have made a fuss over. He imagined the Winter Soldier was going to throw a fit over the one that said Steve got to decide if, when all was said and done and they were still alive, the Winter Soldier had completed his contract. The other, making sure Steve came out breathing on the other side, only made sense with the first consideration.

Once he was past security, Steve decided he hated the Raft. It was sterile, functional, and more than a little creepy. He had to admit, though, that it was probably the only place that could hold the Winter Soldier. Then again, maybe it was only just a matter of time before it couldn’t.

As he strode into the circular room, Sergeant Barnes walked to the transparent wall of his cell. Smirking bitterly, he leaned his forearms against the clear wall. Someone had let him change, and Steve couldn’t smell his pheromones, but he doubted they’d given the Omega any suppressants. That was all right; Steve had brought some.

“Well, well,” Sergeant Barnes drawled, “Look who changed his mind. Fury convinced you at last?”

Raising an eyebrow, Steve walked over and stopped before the Winter Soldier.

“Convinced me to do what?”

Sergeant Barnes snorted.

“Breed me. That’s his pet project, isn’t it? Get some big, strong Alpha to spread my legs and make me his little bitch?” Steve felt his heart clench at the self-loathing in the man’s tone. “It’s going to be just this once, right? Required part of the deal so you can be sure I behave?”

There was a bead of sweat on Sergeant Barnes’ temple and a flush on his cheeks. More of a reaction to his own heat than he had showed at their first meeting. Steve wondered if something had been done to him in the hours they had been apart. Though he considered asking, he decided not to. If anything had, there was nothing Steve could do about it now.

“No,” Steve said, his throat tight. “As long as you’re a part of my team, no one touches you without your permission.”

The smile didn’t change, nor did his posture, his body a long line of tension and challenge. The mixed signals, invitation and aggression, were making Steve’s head hurt. There was no chance he’d take that invitation, but he couldn’t help but notice it.

“Oh, but that’s the point, right,” Sergeant Barnes smiled, all teeth, and backed up, spreading his arms wide, causing his cheap grey t-shirt to stretch over his massive chest. “I have to say yes, or no deal, right? Is there even a deal, or is this just your way to get my ‘cooperation’.”

Steve tasted bile.

Looking up at the security camera, he barked, “Open the cell.”

The Winter Soldier laughed, low and bitter, nostrils fluttering the moment the first crack in the door appeared. 

“That’s not a yes, or a no, Captain. Holding your cards close? Think I’ll say yes? Looking forward to it?”

When Steve looked at him, took in his bitter smile, at his eyes steel grey, hard and old, he thought that Sergeant Barnes would say yes. Later, when he was free, he’d probably kill Steve for the effort, but right now he would say yes. There was so little left for him to lose, and so much to gain. It made Steve feel all of two feet tall. Whatever expression it put on his face, however, made the Winter Soldier pause.

They stood there, staring at each other as the barrier lowered. Steve loose and doing his best to appear nonthreatening, Sergeant Barnes all tension and aggression and anticipation. As they waited, Steve’s mind flashed back to the first time he had seen the Soldier. He hadn’t had any expectations of the man he was being ordered to accept onto his team, but he certainly had not expected the prisoner they’d marched into the training range. 

The scent had hit him first. Powerfully strong, more potent than the scent of any other Omega Steve had ever met. _Heat_ scent. Steve’s back had gone up instantly to realize Fury had dragged their ‘recruit’ into the meeting despite how impossible it was to miss he was in the middle of a heat. Common decency, at the least, dictated the man should be left alone for the days needed to pass the heat. Admittedly, Steve found it strange he wasn’t on the now-legal and easy to acquire heat suppressants. Was it some new Omega rights activism he hadn’t heard of? Whatever the reason, it made his mouth water. 

It had taken all of Steve’s willpower not to come closer and scent the man. Fill his nose until all his head was full of that incredible, smoky sweet scent. Against his will, he had steadily grown hard, even his knot tried to swell without having touched the man. 

Unfortunately, Fury seemed to be the only other Alpha in the vicinity willing to control himself. Steve never put any stock in the claim that it was acceptable to act like an animal just because an Omega was in heat. The other Alphas in the room were disgraceful, to say the least, growling and inching closer to the Omega, ignoring the obvious danger. One look at him and Steve knew the prisoner would kill anyone that got near him. Rage swam in his eyes; so much pure hatred that it made Steve’s breath catch. 

Clenching his jaw, Steve had held himself rigid to keep from making an ass of himself as the Omega prowled into the room surrounded by eight Beta guards. Their rifles were pointed at their prisoner as if, even in the middle of his heat, chained, and unarmed, he was the most dangerous thing in the room. The scent wasn’t the end of it; the prisoner was just his type. He had a large body, roped with hard muscle, and sinfully defined lips, so full that Steve’s eyes kept slipping down just to stare. The way he walked, cocky, sure, without a trace of the submission most Omegas subconsciously exuded. The metal arm was unusual, but Steve had seen too many strange things to be surprised by a robotic arm. The way it moved, though, fluid and natural, mimicking natural movement was stunningly beautiful. Steve’s hands had itched to capture it on paper.

No one would have blamed Steve for looking, but the problem was that he was _still_ getting hard, and not in the ordinary way. No, the ache at the very root of his cock was a mating urge, something he had rarely experienced. Certainly never after just a few seconds in an Omega’s company. His body came to life so suddenly, so sharply, it was as if he’d been waiting for this his whole life for this. For this violent, angry man staring at him with deadly challenge in his eyes. The Winter Soldier, as Fury had called him, was everything a proper Omega shouldn’t be: deliberately antagonistic, screamingly male, and dominant as hell. 

A small, primitive part of Steve was excited by the prospect of going into a rut. Learning what it would feel like to come again and again. Could it be really as good as all the porn he’d read suggested? 

Steve stubbornly shoved those thoughts aside. It was only that stubbornness that saved him from the complete and utter embarrassment of becoming what he despised in others. Slowing his heartbeat, he had locked his reaction deep, not allowing an inkling of what he felt to show. Later, he promised himself, the moment he was alone, he would lock himself in a bathroom and jerk off until his knot came down. 

Standing before the Winter Soldier now, Steve was glad that Natasha had been by his side that first meeting. He simply hadn’t had the chance to fulfill his little fantasy. Then, after he had read Barnes’ files, he had lost his urge to jerk off. Hell, even his persistent erection had subsided once he’d learned how Hydra had used the most basic of Omega physiology to take away Sergeant Barnes’ agency. And they had done it for decades. 

Was it really a surprise he didn’t believe Steve? Everything about the Soldier that Steve had found distasteful during their first meeting made sense after reading his file. Enhanced so that he didn’t age. A hundred years of torture. Like Steve, a man out of time and cut off from the world.

The barrier lifted between them and Steve was once again assaulted by the scent of Sergeant Barnes’ heat. Warm and sweet, like caramel and burned coffee, dark and rich and promising excitement. Artificial, under all that, though; something not quite real. Ignoring what that scent did to his hormones, Steve chucked the duffle he’d carried with him at Sergeant Barnes’ feet.

“Get your gear on. Read your contract. Bird dusts off in thirty. I made sure there are suppressants in there if you want them.”

The intercom instantly buzzed.

“Captain Rogers, the prisoner isn’t allowed...”

Steve felt rage wash through him.

“You want to come down here and say that to my face?” he snarled at the camera. 

The silence was enough of an answer. Clearing his throat, tamping down on his anger, Steve looked at the Winter Soldier apologetically. Natasha would have had his balls for an outburst like that. Tony would have said something pithy and cutting. Sergeant Barnes was just staring at him like he was Bigfoot.

“Sorry,” Steve apologized sincerely, “I’m aware you can fight your own battles, I just can’t always stop myself from fighting them first. Natasha and Tony are attempting to break me of the habit.”

Sergeant Barnes hadn’t moved.

“No ultimatum?” he said slowly.

Wincing, Steve shook his head.

“Look, I’ll be honest with your Sergeant -”

“I’m not a Sergeant,” the Winter Soldier snarled, stepping forward. 

It was probably one of those things Natasha would call stupid, but Steve didn’t back away.

“Your file has no discharge, or court martial papers. You are Sergeant James Barnes with the 107th, captured and held at Azzano.” Steve pressed his lips together. “Apparently, Zola transferred you to a new location just before the prisoners were liberated. So, as far as I’m concerned, you are Sergeant Barnes, POW.”

“Of your own government,” Sergeant Barnes snapped.

“Yes,” Steve agreed and watched the Winter Soldier’s anger fall into a frown, “a fact I cannot change, but will hopefully be able to remedy once we’ve captured Dr. Clarkson. Assuming,” Steve added slowly, “you are agreeing to the deal? I meant to ask if you were agreeing.”

“I’ll read the contract,” Sergeant Barnes answered just as carefully. Not submissive, but wary. Willing to give a little, and that was more cooperation than he’d showed so far.

“Good, ah, is there some place private you can change?”

Throwing his head back, Sergeant Barnes laughed. Then he began stripping, right there, in the cell, with the cameras, Steve; it didn’t seem to matter. Well, it mattered to _Steve_ , who felt his collar heat up and quickly turned away before he caught more than a glimpse of pale skin and hard muscle.

He was halfway across the prison floor when Sergeant Barnes called after him, his voice low and husky so shivers cascaded unwanted down Steve’s spine.

“Who is she?”

Steve stopped, but he didn’t turn.

“She?” he questioned, caught wrong-footed again.

“The bitch that has such a tight hold on you I don’t affect you at all.”

“I… What?” 

A long, drawn out sigh.

“Is it a he, then? You bonded with that Tony?” 

There was the strangest note in Barnes’ voice that Steve couldn’t quite place.

“I’m not… Why are you asking?”

There was a rustle of clothing behind him and the sharp ‘zip’, ‘zip’, of zippers being jerked open and closed.

“No Alpha’s ever resisted me before. I’m trying to decide if I’m slipping.”

Steve snorted, shaking his head at the inanity of the question. Out of all the things the Soldier could have asked, it was this. Why did he care if Steve was bonded? It wasn’t like he wanted to mate.

“I’m not bonded,” Steve answered flippantly, “so you must be slipping.”

Steve didn’t bother hiding his grin when he heard the Sergeant mutter, “Asshole.”

There were thumps accompanied by the sharp rip, rip of velcro being torn open. Steve hadn’t looked at the gear, just took from storage what S.H.I.E.L.D. had logged in as the Sergeant’s things. The bag had been heavy enough to speak of plenty of weapons as well, but Steve hadn’t removed them. He needed Sergeant Barnes to be as armed and dangerous as possible, something Steve had a feeling he would take to with gusto.

“You got my gear,” he heard. The sound was muffled and Steve pictured anything else to keep from imagining Sergeant Barnes undressing, his own body far too interested in the Omega as it was. “You even got it cleaned out.” 

Now the voice sounded clearer.

“I can’t take credit for that,” Steve called. “I found it like it is.”

There was an amused snort this time.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. picked through my things like vultures, eh? Doubt it did them any good. This stuff is highly personalized.”

There were more thumps, heavy and almost metallic in sound. Steve couldn’t even imagine what could make those sounds and then the velcro ‘rip, rip, rip’ started up again. It started and didn’t end anytime soon.

The fact that he was completely suffused in that caramel-sweet and coffee-sharp scent the whole time the Sergeant was possibly naked behind him, was only making him feel hotter in his own suit. There was something that sounded like booted feet, not the soft sneakers the man had been wearing in his cell, and the faint creak of leather.

“Damn it, they didn’t oil the leather,” he heard the man grumble quietly, followed by more creaking before the leather was worked loose and stopped groaning in complaint. 

Finally, Steve heard foil crinkling and breathed a short sigh of relief. The Sergeant was unpacking the emergency suppressants he had brought. There was a tiny hiss of the hypo releasing, strangely loud in the empty space between them, and Steve knew it was only a matter of time before the scent of heat faded.

“Well, I’m as ready as I’m going to be on such short notice anyway.”

Steve turned and felt his jaw literally drop at the sight. He had known the Sergeant was attractive after seeing him in action in the training room, but he wasn’t expecting _this_.

The clothes were black, expected for an assassin, but he wasn’t expecting the _buckles_. They were everywhere. The whole torso of the jacket was made up of large belts ending in the buckles on his right side. Perfectly fitted, tailored to contain the man’s powerful pecs, and to fit tightly over his slim waist, the jacket, even after years of incarceration, still fit perfectly. It had a high collar, buckled tightly over the man’s throat. It only had one sleeve, as black as the rest, with more buckles and zippers doing god-knew-what other than making Steve want to open every single one of them. With only one sleeve, the whole metal arm arm was exposed on the left, the silvery armor plates shining in the artificial light. The red star on the bicep was blood red and vivid against the sheen of metal.

Lower, on Sergeant Barnes’ hips there were even more belts. Black, leather belts crisscrossing his slim hips, all the way down to his thighs where custom holders resided. Two guns rested on each thigh and, when he looked closer, Steve could see the darker shapes of small knife handles. On his feet there were heavy combat boots with metal toes painted matte black. Their sheer size suggested more hidden knives. Quickly, Steve theorized there were a lot more weapons on the Sergeant than were visible, and there was _a lot_ of visible weapons. 

The custom holders were doing indecent things to Barnes’ thighs, as did the tailored combat pants. They were re-enforced at the knees but very…tight around the thighs, hugging the defined muscles there in a truly indecent manner. Steve tried to behave, but couldn't help but stare for a moment at those thick thighs encased by tight black cloth, criss-crossed by leather straps.

“No scrunchie?” 

Steve forced his eyes back up to Sergeant Barnes’ face at the sound of his voice. It was with some difficulty, his eyes refusing to do it all at once, dragging back over that stunning physique. Finally he noticed the Sergeant’s hair was loose, falling messily around his face and almost reaching his shoulders.

“Huh?” 

Barnes made a short, huffing sound which Steve’s muddled brain interpreted as amusement.

“Scrunchie,” the Sergeant repeated with mocking slowness, “For my hair.”

“Um,” Steve said eloquently, scrambling to get his mind firmly out of the gutter. “Uh… no, s-sorry.” 

He actually stuttered. He never stuttered. Damned fucking, uncontrollable hormones. Yet instead of getting angry, Barnes graced him with a smirk. Those plump lips stretched and quirked up in a slow, wicked twist that sent Steve’s mind right back into the gutter he’d barely managed to crawl out of.

“Seems I’m not quite slipping after all.”

“Nope,” Steve abruptly turned on his heel, not about to let the bastard see him blush, “Definitely slipping.”

Neither of them believed a word.

\----

When Steve returned to the Quinjet with the Winter Soldier in tow, Natasha suppressed a sigh of relief. Someone had given the Omega heat suppressants so his overwhelming stink was no longer irritating her nose. She tried not to think about what it meant that that someone was probably Steve. For all his faults, Fury had been like a father to her, but ever since Steve had been defrosted, she’d noticed Nick wasn’t the man she’d always thought. Treating an Omega like this just proved it.

Natasha watched the Winter Soldier from the corner of her eye as he entered the Quinjet behind Steve. She had no idea how Steve could walk so calmly with that man so close behind him. The gear he had on was clearly designed to intimidate as much as it was an actual combat suit. All the buckles and black kevlar only highlighted the silver limb, ensuring everyone knew he was always armed. Literally. He was still moving in that threatening prowl she had first seen in the training room, so damned sure of his physical power it was she felt the need to bare her throat to him. 

Once inside, Barnes took stock of the of the jet’s interior, eyes flicking up and around. Honing in on all the dark corners first, then sliding over to Tony and her. There was a flicker in his expression, just there and gone, and she was sure he could pilot the jet if he needed to. She’d be sure to make the start code particularly complicated.

“Oh thank Christ,” Tony blurted from the co-pilot's seat on Natasha’s right, “I was afraid we’d have to deal with that smell the whole damned time.” He sniffed and wrinkled his nose. “Never mind, now I just smell Cap.”

Returning her eyes to the displays in front of her, Natasha pretended to check them as she kept watching Barnes in the reflection of the glass. When Tony spoke, he didn't focus on the source of the chatter but rather on Steve, very obviously taking the man’s measure. Natasha didn’t like it. There was too much intelligence, too much raw instinct in that steel gaze. Natasha didn’t think Steve equipped enough to deal with someone so willing to use their sexuality as a weapon. 

“If you put on the suit, you don’t have to,” Steve pointed out, probably sounding reasonable to anyone else, but Natasha knew he was goading Tony. 

Barnes flicked his eyes down, then up, expression impossible to read. Inspection finished, he followed Steve deeper into the plane, ending up directly behind Tony. He said nothing, did nothing, but his presence was heavy in the room. Natasha watched Tony's hands tense minutely. At least he was aware of the kind of threat he had behind him.

“I am wearing a suit,” Tony said flippantly, stopping only because Steve groaned loudly.

“Please, not that joke again.”

“Fine, spoilsport,” Tony stood sharply, “I’ll put on the suit. You smell worse than he did.”

Just like Steve wanted. 

Natasha shook her head. It still impressed her that for all that he was a terrible liar, Steve was excellent at predicting other people’s reactions, knowing just the right thing to get them to do what he wanted. Like now, keeping Tony safe from their new Omega ‘teammate’ by having him suit up early. He’d have been a great spy if he could actually lie more convincingly than a seven-year-old.

A brief, considering look crossed Barnes’ face. She wasn’t the only one who had caught on to what Steve had done. It was impressive. After watching them interact for less than half an hour in total, Barnes could already read between the lines.

Knowing what was going to happen next, Natasha twisted in her seat to watch. Though there was plenty of room, Tony brushed past Steve as he went to the back, their hands brushing. Natasha was pretty sure they hadn’t realized they did it, how often they were touching. She also wasn’t sure how Pepper could stand the scent of another Alpha on her Omega, but apparently she tolerated it because they were always touching. If Steve wanted, he could likely challenge Pepper for Tony’s bond, not that he ever would, even if he had admitted they were compatible. 

None of this was news to Natasha. She watched to see how Barnes reacted. It was no surprise that he noticed, eyes darting down to Steve’s hand, then following Tony to the back. His eyes narrowed a fraction before focusing on the first Alpha he’d met, possibly ever, to resist his allure. A little too interested for Natasha’s taste. Steve was simply not prepared for the kind of man the Winter Soldier was. The ruthlessness that exuded from every pore.

When Steve reached her, Natasha turned back around and felt a smirk pull at her lips as he laid his hand on her shoulder. If Steve had any idea he was scent marking them, she’d have kicked his ass. That he didn’t, made it...nice. Any Alpha she mated, not that she wanted to mate, would have to deal with his scent as well, because she wasn’t going to tell him to stop. 

“ETA?” Steve asked, looking out the windshield as the elevator took the jet to the surface.

“An hour. You riding shotgun?”

“And listen to Tony whine about taking his seat? No thanks. I’ll suit up. Let me know when we’re fifteen minutes out.”

“Twenty,” the Winter Soldier corrected, challenging again. 

Steve didn’t even twitch.

“Twenty,” he said.

The Winter Soldier scowled; Natasha decidedly did not smirk. The elevator stopped and she fired up the jets as Steve followed Tony into the back to change. For a moment, it looked like the Winter Soldier would follow, before he dropped himself into Tony’s seat. He sprawled in the seat as if he’d spent half his life in it, easy and relaxed, not a single muscle tense or twitchy. Slouched enough that he could rest his head against the backrest, he tilted his throat back, overtly exposed for an Omega. He looked all the more dangerous for it. Obscene and inviting, while he could easily kill anyone who came too close if he wanted. 

Hydra had taught him to use his body well, his anger had refined those skills. Likely, he had chosen the seat because Steve had mentioned Tony would want it back. 

For a moment, Natasha thought the Winter Soldier wouldn’t speak. 

“How is he twenty-six if he got the serum before I did?”

Natasha glanced over, not showing her surprise that he really didn’t know the answer to that.

“Technically speaking, Steve is ninety-six, but he doesn’t count the time he was asleep. I take it Hydra and S.H.I.E.L.D. haven’t kept you up to date on history for the past seventy years?”

For an answer, the Winter Soldier snorted. Natasha didn’t look over this time.

“Then I’ll tell you what any school child in America already knows. Captain Steven Grant Rogers took part in Project Rebirth in 1941. He was given Abraham Erskine’s serum and became the nation’s best fighter. They called him Captain America and he single-handedly dismantled Hydra’s weapons program, killed their leader, then sacrificed himself to save most of the North American eastern seaboard from destruction. Two years ago, the plane he crashed was discovered, buried in the ice, and Captain America was found not to be as dead as everyone had thought and instead frozen in the ice. S.H.I.E.L.D. defrosted him and, two days after he woke up, he led the Avengers in stopping an alien invasion in the heart of New York City.”

“History lesson?” Tony interrupted, stopping behind Natasha and leaning against her chair. From the corner of her eye, she watched the Winter Soldier slowly take in the Iron Man suit. The scowl, she imagined, was probably because Tony hadn’t complained his seat was taken. “They don’t teach history to POWs? Shocker.”

“What is that?” the Winter Soldier demanded, waving a hand to encompass what Tony was wearing.

“Iron Man suit Mark XLII. My own invention, very handy, let me tell you. Not all of us are enhanced like you lot.”

Sneering in contempt, the Winter Soldier looked back to Natasha.

“You expect me to believe you fought aliens.”

“Considering we did, yes,” Tony answered before she could. “Fought and won. Against an army. You’re only meeting part of the team, sure, but you shouldn’t underestimate us. We’re Earth’s mightiest heroes.”

Natasha didn’t hide the roll of her eyes.

“Shouldn’t you know Captain America, though? He was around in your day. Big prisoner rescue at Azzano? Taking out all those Hydra bases, suicide missions? Never losing a single member of his team? Nothing?”

The way Barnes tensed at the mention of Azzano put Natasha’s reflexes on edge. She suppressed it for the moment while Barnes and Tony pressed on.

“What do you mean prisoner rescue at Azzano? No one was coming for us.”

The word ‘us’ clued Tony in that he had said something he shouldn’t, but it was too late.

“Ah, well, you know, they weren’t. Cap, ah… Nat, help me out here.”

Breathing in slowly, Natasha said, “Steve went AWOL when he heard the 107th had been captured. They were his father’s division in World War One.”

Barnes wasn’t looking at her, or at Tony. He stared straight ahead, eyes fixed on a point of nothingness. He was utterly still. Natasha wasn’t sure she should continue, but thought it might be worse if she didn’t, despite earlier misgivings.

“He went in alone, stormed the place, freed the prisoners, and returned with vital information for the war effort.”

When Steve spoke, Natasha twitched. She actually hadn’t heard him come up. Seemed he was taking her lessons in stealth to heart. Barnes, on the other hand, had heard him, his head already turning in that direction.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get there in time to help you,” Steve said sincerely.

Barnes shrugged, but said nothing. Natasha supposed, for him, it had been a long time ago. When she glanced at Steve, though, he looked devastated. As if he had been personally responsible for Barnes’ capture by Hydra during WWII. When Barnes gave no quarter, betrayed nothing, Steve looked down and Natasha knew this would be leverage the Winter Soldier could use against him if he wanted.

Tony, surprisingly, saw it, too.

“It’s not your fault, Steve,” he said firmly. “Dad told me Colonel Phillips was going to let them all rot there until the end of the war. You had no control over that decision. Not even Carter could get him to change his mind. You would have gone sooner if you could have and, anyways….”

A smile, weak though it was, managed to creep back onto Steve’s face.

“Is this why you always get irritated at me when I lecture you?”

“That overwhelming feeling of boredom and the desire to punch you in your perfect teeth?” Tony asked happily. “Yes, that’s why I hate your stupid lectures. Not to mention they give me _feelings_. Me! Tony Stark does _not_ have feelings.”

“Unless approved by Pepper,” Natasha teased, also wanting Steve to smile again.

“Yes,” Tony easily agreed, “Unless approved by Pepper with the requisite paperwork. My woman does love her paperwork.”

Natasha didn’t think she imagined the way Barnes subtly relaxed upon hearing Tony call Pepper his woman. That was not a good sign; Steve was going to need a clearer, expressly-labeled warning, to keep his hands to himself. Even if - even when, she corrected herself - the Winter Soldier offered.

Coming to his feet so abruptly everyone tensed, Barnes slipped past them into the hold without a word. He was too much of a threat not to keep an eye on, so she watched him lie down across several seats and appear, for all the world, to go go sleep. Not that Natasha was going to check. She’d wisley assume he was awake, whether he was or not. 

Once again, Steve looked like a kicked puppy, but rallied quickly this time, squeezing both her and Tony’s shoulders before heading into the hold as well. When he sat and pulled out his sketchbook from the pocket of his leather jacket, she relaxed. So long as he wasn’t brooding, they’d be all right. She just hoped it wasn’t the Winter Soldier he was drawing.

Nearly a half hour passed quietly. Tony was fiddling with some invention, having reclaimed the co-pilot seat. The only sounds came from the engine and Steve’s pencil scratching on paper. That sound had become a comfort to Natasha, though she would never admit it. She thought Tony might feel the same. 

“Did you ever go to a dance hall?” Barnes’ voice, too quiet to carry to Tony’s ears, came from the hold. 

The pencil stopped moving, then started up again.

“A couple times,” Steve answered. “Never did any real dancing, though.”

“Too busy pulling up skirts in back alleys?” Barnes asked crudely.

Steve laughed.

“Too busy getting turned down when I asked. Did you do a lot of dancing?”

“Every night,” Barnes said, even quieter than before.

The pencil tapped against paper.

“They don’t dance like they used to,” Steve said carefully, “Clubs instead of dance halls; more sex than anything else.”

“Sounds like fun,” Barnes purred.

Steve snorted.

“Natasha tells me there’s a few places where they do Latin dances and ‘old school’ swing and Lindy. When we’re done here, maybe you could check them out.”

“You askin’?” Barnes demanded, a note of warning in his voice Natasha hoped Steve heeded. 

“I like my balls attached, thank you very much,” Steve said sarcastically, “Now, if _you’re_ askin’, that’s a different matter. I’d have to decline, but I’d also inform you that Natasha is a wonderful dancer.”

“You’re not?”

“Never learned how,” Steve admitted easily. “Never found the time.”

“And you got no feelin’s about two Omegas carrying on?”

Steve laughed again.

“First off, no. Second off, you put your hand wrong on her and she’ll cut it off, metal or not.”

“ _She’ll_ cut it off?”

“Cotton in your ears?” Steve asked sweetly.

This time Barnes laughed, a hard bark that sounded disused and all the more honest for it. 

“Saccharine, no doubt.”

“Where are you from exactly? Your file said Brooklyn, but not exactly where you lived,” Steve asked quietly.

Barnes must have hesitated, because it was a beat before he answered, “Montgomery.”

The pencil clattered against something hard.

“Hold on a fuckin’ second,” Steve said almost eagerly, “You’re _Bucky_ Barnes? Your dad ran that...that manufacturing plant on… Making, um, dolls?”

Barnes was quiet for a while, but there was a sharp, focused flavor to that silence.

“No,” Steve went on, potentially oblivious to Barnes’ reaction, “It was -”

“Toys,” Barnes said hoarsely. 

“You, ah,” Steve abruptly faltered, “I can shut up, if you’d rather.”

“How do you even know that?” Barnes asked, still off guard.

“I lived down the street,” Steve answered. “We went to the same church. My ma was always going on about your ma’s dresses. The patterns, I mean. Florals and...” Steve paused, then said thoughtfully, “I think you punched me in the jaw once.”

“Excuse me?” Barnes demanded.

“I got punched a lot, so it all kind of blends together, but I think you said somethin’ about my ma, and I said somethin’ about Becca, and you punched me in the jaw.”

Barnes was not buying it.

“I would remember if I punched you in the face.”

Steve must have picked up the pencil, because it began tapping rapidly against his sketchbook. 

“No, I’m pretty sure it was you. I was...seven? It was behind St. Christopher’s, you were talking with Barty Crouts’ son and said… _You_ said my ma was goin’ to hell ‘cause she’d never got married and I said… What did I say? It was pretty bad, my ma washed my mouth out that night -”

Now Barnes was starting to sound suspicious when he interrupted.

“I remember some skinny shrimp of a kid, wheezing more than he was talkin’, callin’ my sister a quiff. Sure as hell not _you_.” 

“Nope, that was me. Asthma and whooping cough nearly took me that winter.”

“And you, what?” Barnes demanded, still sceptical. “Grew out of it?” 

Steve snorted, but Natasha could hear the smile in his voice when he said, “No, wiseguy, the serum. Bigger and better, remember?”

Nat could almost hear Barnes frown.

“It didn't change me that much,” Barnes still sounded suspicious. “Healing factor, yeah, and more muscle mass, but nothing regular training wouldn't give me anyway.”

“Well, I recall you were already pretty big when you signed up and we didn’t get the same serum.”

“So, you sayin’ we lived on the same street?” 

Natasha could hear the change in Barnes’ accent and wondered if it was deliberate.

“That’s what I said, ain’t it?” Steve’s accent was getting worse, so there was a chance Barnes hadn’t noticed he was mimicking. “Um, all right, there was Mr. Nealson’s grocer down on the corner, right? And he was always putting the fresh fruit on the top row, but under that was the stuff nearly gone bad, but he’d, like paint it up a bit, yeah? So if you didn’t pay attention you’d get somethin’ rotten.”

Barnes said carefully, “And if he caught you filchin’ he’d run you off with a bat.”

Steve snickered.

“Nice try, it was a crowbar. You know, my ma always said not t’hang out with Bucky Barnes ‘cause he had light fingers.”

Natasha turned to catch sight of them from the corner of her eye. Barnes was still lying down, but Steve was barely perched on the edge of his seat, leaning much further into Barnes’ space than Natasha thought he would allow any Alpha. 

“You were the skinniest Alpha I’d ever laid eyes on,” Barnes mumbled.

“I had no idea you were an Omega at all.”

“I didn't present ‘til Azzano actually. Always thought I would end up as a Beta.”

“After… That’s pretty late, ain’t it?”

“Twenty-three,” Barnes confirmed. “My dad’s secret shame. Told anyone who asked that I was a Beta. At least he never found out the truth.”

“Don’t,” Steve said sharply. “There’s nothin’ wrong with it.”

“How would you know?” 

Barnes voice was again dipping into those sharp registers, aggression raising its ugly head. However impossible, Steve had managed to get Barnes to open up a little. Now he was shoring his defenses back up.

“Don’t have t’be one to know there’s nothin’ wrong with it. It’s just how you’re born, just how you are. Can’t help it, just as much as you can’t help your eye color. Nothin’ wrong with your eyes, is there?”

“Genetically modified for sniper work,” came the grumbled response, but it was a lighter sound, not quite as aggressive.

“They changed your eye color to make your sniper work better?” Steve asked inanely.

“You asked about my eyes, not the color.”

Natasha knew Steve rolled his eyes.

“Well, thanks for being so fuckin’ literal,” Steve huffed, “Then the answer to the question I asked is, ‘No, Steve, nothin’ wrong with my eyes since they made ‘em fuckin’ perfect, and that’s got nothin’ to do with my designation so I’m glad you asked.’”

“Do you do that often?”

“Do what?” Steve demanded.

“Carry both sides of the conversation?”

“When the other half chooses to be deliberately obtuse, yes.”

“‘N’ you called me the wiseguy, fuckin’ punk.”

“At least I’m not bein’ a jerk.”

It occurred to Natasha that this was the most she had heard Steve say in one sitting since…well, ever. He never talked so much, never completely engaged in conversation that wasn’t strictly work-related. She had no idea how to feel about it. On the one hand, Steve was opening up, seemed more relaxed than ever, more engrossed. On the other, it was the damned Winter Soldier who’d brought it out in him. A man whose reputation didn’t come solely from his battle prowess. He was a spy, an intelligence agent, and he was really good at what he did. There was as much a chance he was playing Steve, as Steve was reaching him.

Surprisingly, or maybe not so much, it was the Winter Soldier that broke the silence in the hold.

“Never meant that about your ma.”

“Never meant it ‘bout your sister.”

“You really got your mouth washed out?”

“Tasted suds for a week,” Steve confirmed, sounding proud. “Heard your dad was pissed.”

“Said there was no honor in hittin’ someone half my size. Ain’t half my size any more, though.”

Steve snorted.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Twenty minutes!” Tony abruptly called, shattering the moment. Natasha twitched, having forgotten he was there. When she glanced over, he was staring back into the hold. Apparently, he had been able to hear after all, if the narrowed look he was giving their new teammate meant anything. 

Tony Stark jealous, she’d never thought she’d see the day.

Standing, he strode into the hold as both Barnes and Steve stood.

“What’s the plan, Cap?” Tony asked a little too casually.

From his pocket, Steve pulled his Stark phone, tapped in his passcode, and pulled up the hologram app. A flick of his fingers and a diagram of the complex was floating in the air above them. In three dimensions, they could see the research complex was built into the side of the Colorado Rocky Mountains, posing as a weather monitoring and research station. It spread out over ten acres of land, just on surface level. Twelve single standing buildings, Steve listed as a laboratory, warehouse, administrative, and parking structures. There was also an onsite apartment complex, and a livestock pen - livestock was held there? - and of course the main research labs. All six of them. Each building was four storeys high and, because nothing could be simple, each contained underground levels, ranging in number from six to fifteen.

Barnes made a sound, interrupting Steve’s debrief as they all focused on him. There was a strange expression on the Soldier’s face.

“You have something to add?” Steve asked.

“That’s the Three Sisters site,” Barnes said slowly, “You want us to get into Three Sisters, with just the four of us?”

“You know it?”

Barnes grimaced.

“I’ve had to break into it twice,” he admitted. “The first time was in ‘59 to steal some documents from the administrative building. It took four months to do it and I barely managed to get into one of the least secure buildings. There were only three labs then, that’s why it was called the Three Sisters. Then in ‘87, I had seven strike teams with me and we only got into the first lab before we ran out of people…”

“What do you mean, ‘ran out of people’?” Tony interjected, his voice climbing steadily higher. 

“He means they died,” Steve said shortly. When Tony looked about to say something else, Steve asked, “What happened to them?”

“Traps; really brutal security system. Whoever built that place had a hard-on for mazes. Doors and walls would slide into place, creating dead ends where the map,” Barnes waved at the hologram, “said there weren’t any. We ended up in more than I can count, their security team mowing us down like fish in a barrel. The only ones who survived was my handler and me.”

There was judgement in Steve’s eyes, but he was wise enough to keep it to himself.

“Luckily for us, we’re not dealing with security teams. Just monsters. I reviewed the security footage while you were away. If Dr. Clarkson hasn’t changed his MO, the top floors are clean, except for the pathogens, of course. The lower floors are where we have to worry about security protocols, but I’ve been briefed on those as well.” Steve let out a breath and added, “Supposedly.”

“That’s comforting,” Tony said.

Steve shrugged.

“I don’t want you comforted, I want you on your guard. _Supposedly_ , I can bypass any of the security systems. _Supposedly_ , the first infiltration team already disabled a lot of them, the second even more. There’s no telling if Dr. Clarkson could, or did, re-enable them. We also still have no intel on that...dog-thing.”

“I can tell you that this,” Barnes pointed to one of the buildings described as Administrative, “is either inaccurate, or the building that I remember from the ‘59 mission suddenly shrunk.”

“They could have rebuilt it,” Natasha said, playing devil's advocate.

“Or the plans are inaccurate,” Barnes agreed.

“Counterproductive,” Steve said, “but not an impossibility.” 

“I’m sure they want us to succeed,” Barnes agreed, “but I doubt they want you to know what exactly they were cooking up in there.”

“You do realize who you’re standing with, right?” Tony snarked. “We got that already, Virtuosity.”

Natasha was certain Barnes didn’t get the reference, but then again, neither did she or Steve. They all just ignored him.

“I want it to be clear that Hydra has been obsessed with that site since the Fifties, and they never managed to infiltrate it. But they had no problems infiltrating S.H.I.E.L.D.”

As always, the mention of Hydra made Steve scowl. The knowledge that his friends Carter and Stark’s creation had become another of Hydra’s heads had hit him hard when he’d been unfrozen. It occurred to Natasha now, he’d never given an opinion on how Hydra had been ripped apart. There was enough about Steve Rogers she didn’t know that she wouldn’t have put money on a guess.

“Do we even know which lab is the one we’re after?” Barnes asked.

“This one,” Steve answered, fingers entering the hologram and expanding it so only the building in question was displayed. Four storeys above ground and ten below. Not the largest, but a lot of ground to cover. “The second team made it to the fourth sub-floor before encountering Dog-Thing.”

“We’re not calling it Dog-Thing,” Tony interrupted.

Steve sighed.

“What are we calling it, Tony?”

“Vicious fucking Hellhound from Hell?”

“Hellhound, fine,” Steve said shortly. 

“Do we have to put up with this the entire mission?” Barnes demanded.

“You get used to it,” Steve said with a slight smile.

Barnes scowled fiercely.

“Did the previous teams give confirmation of the target’s presence in the lab? Or are we simply working off their intel?”

“They didn’t get that far, no. The intel that he’s still on the premises comes from a video Dr. Clarkson released, threatening to release a plague that would kill everyone on the planet. And that no one has left the compound since it went into lockdown.”

“So we go in and pray he hasn’t moved in the last two days.”

Natasha ignored that and demanded, “No one? That’s a huge compound, Rogers. How can _no one_ have left.”

Inclining his head, Natasha was relieved to see he had already realized that.

“Not only that,” Steve agreed, “the first two teams encountered no one inside. They’ve seemingly disappeared.”

“A complex that size,” Natasha protested, “there must have had at least a hundred people working there. More if we add the security necessary to cover an area that big.”

“So what’s the plan for infiltration?” Barnes asked, trying to get them back on topic.

Steve’s fingers danced in the hologram again and the schematics of the building in question unfolded, its sub-floors’ room layouts displaying for inspection. 

“The levels cleared by previous teams are in green. He indicated the first floor and the first three sub-levels. “Those _should_ be fairly safe. The problem is the remaining seven. The most dangerous virology work was done on the seventh floor, but we can’t assume Dr. Clarkson is there. We’ll have to sweep every floor.”

Steve looked back at Tony.

“Tony and I will take point. I know the security codes and Tony has the most technical knowledge. If necessary, he can take down any security system by force. Nat, you’re following. Barnes, you’re the rear guard.”

“Rear?” came the immediate protest, “That’s where you want to put me? Really?”

It surprised Natasha, too. The Winter Soldier was a formidable and fearless combatant, and still a stranger. She would have assumed Steve would be keeping him in his sights.

“Yes,” Steve’s eyes were hard, “or should I not trust you to watch our backs?”

“I’m a frontline fighter,” Barnes said, his voice was still calm, if insistent.

Steve’s voice went sickly sweet again.

“I thought you could do everything, Sergeant.”

“Why do you get to fight with him, if I don’t?” Tony demanded.

Barnes’ eyes flicked to Tony but returned to Steve, not letting himself be distracted from the real target.

“The suit makes it obvious you prefer long distance fighting,” Barnes said, addressing Tony, but not looking away from Steve. “I don’t see how that makes you the frontline choice.”

Before they could get into it again, Natasha said neutrally, “You don’t know much about us at all.”

“I have a vested interest in the success of this mission,” Barnes answered, surprisingly. “And if the Captain’s personal preferences will come into play when planning the strategy, I will address it.” 

Steve snorted.

“If you’re planning on questioning every one of my decisions, we will die down there, so let’s do this _once_. I’m on point for the obvious reason that no one else is being granted the security codes - not my choice. Tony is with me for three reasons: he knows how I fight, he knows what I can do, and he knows what I _don’t_ know. You’re in the rear because your eyesight is better than Nat’s, you’ll see if those things come behind us first, and if they’re too fast for a _ranged assault_ , you won’t be overwhelmed. Tony will not react as fast as you will. Since we’re on the subject, Natasha is in the middle because she’s an amazing shot and can assist either you, or us, and will make the call based on how you fight and how we fight, because she will learn you faster than you’ll learn us. Good enough, Sergeant?”

“Why so defensive, Captain? It’s not like any of you bothered to brief me on your talents, did you now?” Barnes said, leaning back again.

“No, I didn’t,” Steve said shortly, “I wanted to see how you’d react to my orders. Color me unimpressed.”

“Mind games now? You claim I’m a member of your team, do you keep them,” Barnes indicated Nat and Tony, “in the dark too, and force them to follow you blindly?” 

The Soldier’s voice was even, bland. He wasn’t expressing any of the various levels of anger Steve was likely used to hearing by now. He was…disappointed. Tired. As if this wasn’t the first, or the hundredth, time he was forced into situations he didn’t like. That was good. It would remind Steve that Barnes _didn’t_ have a choice about being here. Steve would need to remember that, even though armed and dangerous, Barnes was a prisoner. Steve was not his team leader, but his jailor.

Steve sighed.

“For some reason, I had the feeling you wouldn’t give me a straight answer if I asked. If I was wrong, I apologize. I needed to know if I could trust you to follow me. It wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever had, and likely you don’t think you can trust me now, but you should have at least realized I’d know their strengths even if you don’t know ours. You have to trust I know _something_ , Sergeant, or this isn’t going to work.”

The Soldier smiled, a bitter twist of his lips. Neither accepting Steve’s apology, nor his explanation. Accepting only that he would always be treated the way he had.

“It could, as long as everybody does their job and their personal feelings don't come into play. That’s just being professional.” Barnes crossed his arms in front of him. The metal arm was the one on top, gleaming strangely in the bluish light of the holograph. “That, I know from experience.”

Steve snorted.

“Professional? You’re suggesting questioning your orders is professional? Look,” Steve snapped, “I _am_ sorry, but what exactly would you have me do? This isn’t a democracy, you can’t question everything I say down there or someone will die. You _know_ that.”

“I don’t know, Captain,” Barnes drawled the words out, “maybe talk to me like I’m an actual human not a pawn in one of your mind games? I know the idea is novel, but who knows, it might even lead to that trust you preach so much about but don’t practice?”

“How many times do you want me to apologize? _What_ do you want me to do, Sergeant? I _can’t_ put you in charge, even if I wanted to. Come up with the solution, because you clearly don’t think I can.”

Tony shifted, obviously uncomfortable. Natasha felt the same, but she wasn’t going to show it. There was no answer, this time from Barnes. He just glared. Steve didn’t back down, just waited. 

“I’m not aiming for a leadership position,” Barnes said finally. “I wouldn’t want it even if it was offered. And I do and will question any of your plans I don’t like. You should notice the fact I did it now, when we are still en route, not actually at the site.”

“What I’ve noticed is you question _everything_ , Sergeant. Do you not notice it yourself? I think I understand, but you’re a soldier. You know I have no way to know how you’ll act down there until we’re there. You should know my first concern is keeping everyone, that includes you, alive. You want us to get by as professionals? Act like it and I will do my best to do the same.”

Barnes smiled again and Steve grimaced, looking away. At least he was aware the smile wasn’t what Barnes actually felt. Natasha was just grateful she wasn’t in charge of this mess. Dealing with Barnes was like swimming with sharks.

“As you wish, Captain.”


	4. Chapter 4

They landed as the sun set on the roof of their target building, offering an unobstructed view of the Three Sisters complex, the twelve buildings, surrounding land, and courtyard. After the dramatic footage collected from previous teams, Steve expected the ground to be torn apart. It was a black site, highly protected, so even Hydra hadn’t been able to get inside. There should have been some sign of the combat that must have been necessary for anyone to take the whole complex in a single night. Bodies, signs of a firefight, _something_.

There was nothing.

The pavement was untouched, the lawns surrounding the parking lot perfectly well-maintained, and not a single broken window marred the surrounding surfaces. There were even small flowerbeds, red and white petals bright and unbruised. There wasn’t even a single overturned trashcan.

Worst of all, it was exceptionally quiet. It took Steve a moment to pinpoint just what was weird, but once he did, he couldn’t stop listening for it. Not the birds, or the animals, no, it was the noise of civilization that was missing. The hum of electricity, AC units, fans and generators were all missing. No click-clacking of a building inhabited by hundreds of people. It was a completely unearthly quiet that Steve had only experienced in the moments after the bombings in London, before the people had come up from their shelters. 

“Anybody else getting the heeby-jeebies?” Tony asked, faceplate down now so no one could see the expression on his face. They wouldn’t see his face again until they got out of here. 

Steve didn’t answer, instead calling out, “Sergeant, Tony’s suit is powered by that reactor in his chest.” He had been debating telling the prisoner that since he’d made the decision to bring Sergeant Barnes onto the team. After their last conversation, well, it was something he needed to know. “He’s got a tendency to let it get broken. If it breaks inside -”

“He dies,” Barnes finished as he descended the quinjet ramp. “Understood, Captain.”

“You two really need to work on your bedside manner,” Tony complained, even still, Steve could hear the tension in his statement.

“Anything else I need to know about your pretty Omega?” the Sergeant demanded, stopping next to Natasha.

Steve took a breath and prayed for patience. At least he could take the moment to distract Tony from the atmosphere. As much as he liked and trusted the guy, he hadn’t been in a lot of genuine military actions. 

“You get used to his need to fill the silence,” Steve answered.

“Hey,” Tony huffed.

“Really?” the sergeant chuckled dryly and Steve ignored the shiver that chased down his spine. “Is that another reason he doesn’t get to go on covert ops?”

So the Sergeant’s enhancements had included his hearing. What else had he heard of their conversations at the Triskelion? Steve didn’t think they’d said anything important. He hoped it wouldn’t become another liability.

“It is, actually,” Steve said, heading to the roof access, “Tony talks too much.”

Tony huffed again.

“Says the man who never starts a conversation unless it’s about work. And I am right here, you know.”

“Oh, are you?” Steve asked playfully. “Never would have noticed, what with _how much you talk_.”

“It explains that annoying buzzing I’ve been hearing,” Sergeant Barnes threw in.

Steve paused, a hand on the lab’s door. Not to check that they were ready, though he needed to do that. He paused because it occurred to him that the Sergeant was helping him calm Tony down. On purpose. The way Natasha, as his XO should have.

“I hate both of you,” Tony grumbled.

Glancing back, Steve verified his team was ready. Then he caught Barnes’ eye and nodded. It was slight, but Steve knew he understood when his chin lifted and a sneer fitted over his lips. That was fair; Steve should have remembered that, before Hydra, America had trusted the man to help take care of its soldiers. Sergeant Barnes had, according to his file, been beloved by his men. Steve had thought the man lost, but...maybe not. Maybe he just had to be encouraged.

Steve liked to think he was good at getting the best out of people.

Turning back to the task at hand, Steve keyed in his security override and pushed through the door. The grey stairwell was typical for the few office spaces Steve had seen in the future: boring brown and grey paint. Then the door shut behind the sergeant and locked them into utter silence and darkness. Gone were the sounds of nature that had surrounded the mountain complex, the wind through tree boughs, distant birds and the occasional buzz of an insect. Where there should have been voices, the rustle of papers, the hum of the air conditioning, there was nothing. The only noise reaching Steve’s sensitive ears was the breathing of his teammates and the thump, thump, thump of their heart beats. 

Natasha swallowed hard. Barnes’ metal arm clicked and whirred as the plates shifted and settled again. Tony’s suit buzzed and Steve thought he heard JARVIS talking.

“Confirm NVGs,” Steve called, slipping the glasses from his belt and putting them on as he did. The night vision glasses immediately lit up the empty hall in differing hues of green. 

“Go,” Sergeant Barnes called first.

“Go,” said Tony.

“Go,” said Natasha.

A long, low howl echoed from somewhere far away, muffled by layers of concrete and interior walls. It had no location, no place for them to pinpoint a threat. The hellhound - great, thanks Tony - was _somewhere_ , but they hadn’t needed a reminder.

“Am I the only one who heard that?” Natasha demanded.

“I heard it,” Steve said at the same time as Sergeant Barnes.

“Heard what?” Tony asked worriedly.

“Oh good,” Natasha said, her voice higher than Steve had heard it before.

Taking a deep breath through his nose, Steve started moving forward. Thanks to the silence, Steve could hear everyone’s footsteps as well as their breathing and heartbeats. Tony’s were the loudest, though his breathing and heart were the hardest to hear. Natasha’s footsteps were barely a tap on the concrete steps; Barnes’ barely a brush.

Steve kept his shield at the ready and called up the holo-display again. He remembered the general layout, but there were dozens of rooms per floor. Having an eidetic memory helped, but it wasn’t feasible that he could remember the exact layout of the entire complex. They would have to circle each floor, clear each room, before moving onto the next. 

Ensuring he still knew the course he and Natasha had plotted through the levels, he tucked it away again. There were elevators nearby, but the lack of power meant the lifts were stuck, and they didn’t know on which floors. They risked the chance of getting stuck in the shaft during an attack, not to mention elevators were noisy deathtraps. All they needed was for Dr. Clarkson to realize the lift was moving and chuck a grenade - or worse - inside just as the doors opened.

Motioning with his hand for the others to follow, Steve started down the stairs. At the next landing, he bypassed security and eased the door open. He came out fast, his Glock 38 in his right, shield in his left. Tony was right behind him covering his six. Natasha followed, gun high over Steve’s head and sweeping the corridors. Six of them met in the middle where the stairs and elevators converged, ensuring everyone going up or down had to come through this point. Each floor splayed out like a wheel, the corridors the spokes that met in the centre. Anybody who tried to take the building would find it impossible to take each floor as the corridors opened on their entrance points from all sides. No way to barricade themselves, or dig down. Not the kind of tactical thinking Steve would have expected from a virus lab.

Each floor required at least half an hour to clear. They would then go down a level, secure it, and repeat the process as many times as they needed to reach Dr. Clarkson. Of course, there was their time limit to consider, but Steve swallowed down the urge to mention it. They would be in and out far before their eighteen hours expired. No need to add pressure to the already volatile situation.

Nothing moved for a minute, so Steve ordered, “Split up. Tony, we’re clearing the right half. Sergeant, you’re with Natasha on the left. Take point, Nat has the layout so follow her directions. Regroup in thirty. Stay in radio contact.”

“Copy,” came the answer from three voices.

Breaking off to the first corridor, Steve took point with Tony slightly behind and to his left. They didn’t get ten feet before the man had the urge to start nattering.

“This is so exciting,” Tony murmured, “A real military action. You should take me out more often, Cap.”

Shaking his head, Steve eased open what was apparently an office supplies closet and ensured it was empty.

“Pepper would get jealous, Tony.”

Easing down the corridor, they reached the next door and Steve opened it again. An office of some kind, so Steve motioned for Tony to go left, while he went right, and spilled through the doorway. The cubicles were quiet and empty, no signs of movement or danger, just four rows of grey cubes spanning what looked like the entire side of the building.

“Clear!” Tony reported, the slight whine of his suit indicating he was standing down from ready-to-fire.

“Clear,” Steve echoed, scanning the completely empty corridor in front of him again.

From their comms, they could hear that Nat and Sergeant Barnes had also cleared wherever it was they were looking. Shutting the door behind them, Steve quickly outlined a plan to clear the cubicles. It meant splitting up again, but the grey padded mini-offices had walls low enough they’d be able to remain in visual contact. 

Motioning to his right, Steve sent Tony off and started to the left. The desks were mostly neat, as if the owners hadn’t come into work that day. There were a few cups of half-drunk coffee, though, that suggested otherwise. Not to mention the cell phones. Steve had yet to meet a person in the future who wasn’t attached to their cellular device at the hip, yet there was one at nearly every desk. Some plugged into headphones, others charging cords, most blinking with missed messages.

When one began ringing, Steve nearly came out of his skin. The shield was halfway to a throwing position when he recognized the noise. Tony, on the other hand, blasted an entire cubicle to smithereens. Grey fabric, twisted electronic components and paper flew into the air.

“Oops.”

Steve gave him his best, ‘Seriously?’ look.

Nat’s voice immediately came over the comms.

“Rogers, status.” 

“Tony has eliminated a cellphone,” Steve informed her. “With extreme prejudice.”

Barnes snorted.

“Hey, that’s only because I was the faster draw. You were gonna take a swing at it, too.”

“Well,” the Sergeant drawled, “if they didn’t know we were here, they do now. What did you hit it with, a grenade?”

“A grenade?” Tony somehow sounded insulted. Steve rolled his eyes before turning back to his sweep. “That’s so last century. Well, I suppose you _are_ last century, so why am I surprised.”

“Focus, please,” Steve said before Sergeant Barnes could reply. He had more faith now that the Sergeant wouldn’t antagonize anyone on purpose during the op, but Tony was... Well, Tony could antagonize a snail. It wasn’t worth the risk. “And have JARVIS lockdown all incoming cell communication in a five mile radius.”

“Not outgoing?” 

“No, let Dr. Clarkson attempt communication again if he wishes.”

“Not expecting survivors, Steve?” Natasha asked quietly.

“Hoping for them.”

“Not the same thing,” Barnes noted.

Steve didn’t think that needed an answer. Three minutes later, he and Tony had cleared the office and slapped a line of red tape that reflected orange in their NVGs, marking it cleared. 

“Barnes, what the hell are you doing?” Natasha demanded as Steve and Tony proceeded down the hall again.

Steve slowed his progress down the cramped corridor, and glanced at Tony. The Iron Man faceplate looked back at him, and Steve briefly lamented he couldn’t see the man’s eyes. It had been a risk, sending the Sergeant with Natasha. At least, his instincts had said it was. He was volatile, she was tiny; Steve didn’t trust him, she was his best friend. Logically, however, he knew he couldn’t babysit either Omega. There had to be trust here, at least that the Sergeant could be professional, even if Steve didn’t trust that at all. 

Besides, Natasha could handle herself.

“Natasha, report,” Steve demanded, a little too sharply for his own liking.

“He’s rummaging through the desks.”

“What for?” Steve asked, bewildered.

Steve and Tony stopped outside the next door and paused with Steve’s hand on the knob. Breaching a room with his mind elsewhere wasn’t an option. The moment stretched on, silent and tense, as they waited for either Natasha or Sergeant Barnes to say something. Steve couldn’t help but wonder if he’d made a mistake and then Natasha was back in his ear.

“Looking for snacks, apparently.”

“Free supplies,” Barnes announced, obviously pleased with himself.

Steve groaned, signaled to Tony and they breached another room filled with yet more cubicles, as empty as the last. On one desk, a half-eaten sandwich sat atop a paper towel next to an open bag of chips, and a half finished bottle of soda. Approaching the desk, Steve jostled the mouse so the screen saver blinked off. An email filled the screen, discussing a future presentation with someone named Denise. It wasn’t finished, either.

“Sergeant, Natasha,” Steve asked carefully, turning in a slow circle before exciting the cubicle again, “Have either of you found any signs of a struggle?” 

“Would have reported if we had,” Barnes answered crisply. 

“Yes, but…”

“But?” Natasha prompted when he hesitated .

Frowning, Steve didn’t answer. He wanted someone to find...something. Anything. Even a body, though he hated he was wishing someone had died. At least then he would have known what they were dealing with, though.

“All right,” Tony said crisply, “I know everybody is thinking it, so I’ll be the one to bite the bullet and ask: Where are the bodies? Where’s the blood? Where the heck are the people?”

“Maybe further down,” Natasha said; she didn’t sound convinced.

“Yeah,” Barnes interjected, “how _far_ down?”

“A regular ray of sunshine aren’t you?” Tony groused, but it lacked his usual flair. He was nervous; they were all nervous. 

Steve was getting a headache from straining his ears in the silence. He had always been a city boy, used to the hum and bustle and rush of a place filled to bursting with humanity. During WWII, he had spent his first, and longest time in the wilds, and always found it unnerving how little recognizable sound there was day or night. The forests weren’t quiet, not at all, but the sounds were _different_ , reminding him that he was far from home. It was never quiet; animals and insects were surprisingly noisy. Only a few times had he experienced the complete _lack_ of sound like in this building. It was simply unnatural.

Each subsequent room was more of the same: silence, the niggling sense of abandonment, no signs of struggle or human presence at all. The bathrooms were so clean, toilet seats up, that they clearly hadn’t been used since the cleaning crew had come through the night before. 

By the time they all met up at the stairs again, both Steve and Tony were wound tighter than a spring. From the looks of them, Natasha and Sergeant Barnes were suffering the same disquiet. Both were quiet and still, tightly-closed books that betrayed nothing. That was what gave them away; the lack of expression that spoke of their unease. The Sergeant wasn’t sniping at him any more, his rifle held a little higher in his hands. Natasha didn’t even flick a smile his way when they appeared.

Steve’s eye caught the Sergeant’s hand as he carded his fingers through his shoulder-length hair, pushing it back from his face. His own fingers itched to follow, find out of the brown strands were as soft as they appeared. Twine it around his fingers, trail his nails over the Sergeant’s scalp and see how he would react. It had been a ridiculous desire since the moment they’d met, and even the shitty view granted him through the NVGs didn’t make it go away.

“We should destroy the staircase door,” Barnes said suddenly, glancing at Steve from the corner of his eye. Steve couldn’t tell what the man was thinking and hoped he hadn’t been staring too obviously. “To make sure we have a clean line of egress.”

The sheer paranoia of the statement struck Steve as amusing, but he could see the merit in the suggestion. It wasn’t as though Tony hadn’t already blown their stealth, and if something happened to him, the others couldn’t open the locks. What was one more explosion when it meant they had a clear line of egress should the shit hit the fan? He had the bad feeling it was going to sooner rather than later.

“Good idea,” Steve agreed, ignoring the flash of surprise in the sergeant’s eyes before he turned towards Tony. “Blow it.”

“Sir, yes, sir!” Tony chirped.

As secure it was, The door didn't stand a chance against Tony’s repulsors. Raising a hand, palm outward, the familiar whine filled the air, and Steve realized two things: the flash of light would have been painful to watch through the NVGs and he hadn’t warned Barnes. Turning his head, Steve darted his hand out to cover the Omega’s eyes and prayed he wasn’t about to be stabbed. The whining ended in a _whump,_ and the door was ripped off it’s hinges. When Steve dropped his hand and looked back, half the frame twisted outward, the lock nothing more than melted slag.

The Iron Man mask looked to Sergeant Barnes, who was staring at Steve with tension clear in every line of his shoulders.

“Grenades, ha.”

The Sergeant focused on Tony with a speculative look, then lifted his left hand - the metal one that both fascinated and unnerved Steve - and wrapped the knuckles against Tony’s temple.

“Huh, not so stupid after all,” the Sergeant said casually.

Both Tony’s hands flew to his head, trying in vain to hold his ears. Even from where he stood, Steve could hear the ringing. Tony cursed, loud and creatively, and Steve tried not to laugh. The sound that left him ended up being more of a wheeze as he tried to bite back a smile.

Barnes’ and Tony’s heads swiveled to look at him, and Steve quickly turned toward the next flight of stairs.

“Right, down we go.”

After clearing the stairwell door, they split up again. Steve and Tony cleared two more offices full of cubicles and computers left in sleep modes. At one point they even found a cleaning cart, and a mop lying across an empty hall. A pool of water had formed around the end, but was already starting to dry.

“Captain,” the Sergeant said as they stepped over the puddle. 

“Copy,” Steve answered, squashing the wholly inappropriate reaction he had to that low, raspy voice. 

“The teams before us would have followed similar secure-and-tag procedures, wouldn’t they?”

They had approached the next door, so Steve didn’t answer right away. Easing open the door, Steve waited for Tony’s nod that he was ready and slipped inside. Shield high, Glock sweeping left to right, he saw no threats. The room appeared to be a filing room, the fairly cramped space filled with two desks so many filing cabinets packed so close together it was difficult to see from one end of the room to the other. 

Tony came in on his heels for the same sweep at his back. So far, he had yet to make a crack about the weapon, but he was waiting for it since he hadn’t carried one around the man often. People always noticed when he was armed, as if it boggled the mind. He was a soldier, for god's sake. It wasn’t like he had fought a war with only his shield and bare fists. Okay, that had happened a few times, but still.

“Their mission brief said as much,” Steve finally answered, now that there was a higher likelihood that the room was clear. “Why are you asking?”

“If the second team reached sub-level three,” Barnes continued, and was he trying to speak like a phone-sex operator? “there should be tags. I haven't seen any, have you?”

Steve frowned, advancing through the lines of file cabinets.

“No. Tony? Nat?”

“No,” Natasha answered.

“Not a one,” Tony confirmed.

“Doesn’t fit, right?” the sergeant went on, arguing his point when he didn’t have to. That was Steve’s fault, though, and he knew it. “We should have found tags. No surveillance equipment, no sensors, not even old school chalk marks.”

“Clear!” he reported to Tony on the far side of the room. 

Tony called back, “Clear,” and they started back to the door they’d entered.

“Incompetence?” Nat wondered aloud.

“Or they were too busy doing something else they didn’t get to tag the floors?” Tony speculated, closing the door and sticking their reflective tape onto it. It was thin and highly adhesive, impossible to pry off without breaking. 

Steve checked the corridor, glanced at the map which labeled the next room as another bathroom. With one hand, he waved Tony down to check it out while he paused to examine the door. There was no doubt the sergeant had a point.

“Or,” Barnes said pointedly, “somebody came back after they’d been eliminated and took everything down.” 

“Optimistic, as usual,” Steve murmured, more to himself than anything, as his eyes flicked around the outer frame. The quiet was getting to him; at least hearing another voice helped. “Incompetence is unlikely, though. It’s too important and they were Army Special Forces. Maybe not the best, but damned good.”

“That leaves us with an unknown third party, likely hostile,” Natasha concluded, followed by, “Clear.”

“Clear,” Sergeant Barnes confirmed.

The sound of a stall door being pushed open accompanied Tony’s speculation of, “Clarkson?” 

“He’s a scientist,” Barnes protested, “How would he know about the tags or sensors, let alone how to get them off?”

“Please,” Tony scoffed, “I would know.”

“Very few people are like you, Tony,” Steve said mildly, but tension flared through his shoulders. 

He couldn’t see anything unusual, so he slid the shield onto his back and switched his gun from one hand to the other. Using his teeth, he pulled his glove off his right hand and ran bare fingertips over the frame. At about hip height there was something sticky and rough, like something adhesive had been torn off the door, taking the paint with it. On the other side, at his shoulder, was another. Possibly they had been created by someone scuffing the frame, or a decoration that had been stuck on with adhesive, but…

“And you wonder why I think you play favorites,” the Barnes huffed.

Steve rolled his eyes.

“No, I think you’re jealous,” he corrected.

“Clear,” was Tony’s only response. 

“Oh,” Barnes drawled, his voice dropping down into those indecent registers again, “At least I’m not the one who _wants_ something.”

“And what is it I want?” Steve asked, genuinely curious.

A moment later, Tony exited the ladies’ room and Steve pointed him towards the men’s. Over the comms, Barnes snorted. 

“Everybody here can smell you, Captain. You want somebody, the only question is who?”

“I don’t want anyone,” Steve said absently, “Tony’s buying me a strip club.”

“Oh yes,” Tony said sarcastically, “Definitely doing that after you send me to clear bathrooms _alone_. Against protocol, by the way, while you… I was going to say something witty, but what _are_ you doing?”

“Clear the bathroom and I’ll show you,” Steve insisted, his eyes on the door frame of the cleared toilet.

“And here I thought you were trying to be professional, Captain,” Sergeant Barnes’ smooth voice said mockingly. 

Steve was not affected. He was _not_.

“Shut up,” Steve snapped, more irritated by the arousal pooling at his spine than he would admit, and now unnerved by his confirmation of their worst-case scenario. “Check the next door you come out. One team put their tags on the left side, at hip height. The other right side, at the shoulder. We’re definitely dealing with a third party.”

“I don’t see anything,” the sergeant said a moment later, but it was a thoughtful kind of murmur, not an argument.

“I don’t either,” Nat confirmed a moment later.

“Slide your hand over the door frame,” Steve suggested. “The adhesive is still tacky.”

“Confirmed.” Natasha said. “There are marks. Those rooms were definitely tagged.”

“Somebody put a lot of effort to clean up after the teams,” Sergeant Barnes said after another moment. “And they aren’t worried about what we saw in those recordings.”

Behind Steve, Tony came out of the bathroom and slapped a marker on the door without announcing ‘clear’, letting them speculate. There was no way for him to check for the adhesive, not in his suit.

“That would imply the hellhounds are actually somebody's pets,” Tony commented.

“It also means someone has a cure for what killed our people, doesn’t it?” Steve questioned, offering a silver lining.

“Not really,” Barnes immediately argued. “It just means there are more than three people immune to the disease. Doesn’t necessarily mean they have a cure.”

“Supersoldiers _and_ hellhounds?” Tony complained. “Great, and it was turning out to be such a nice day.”

“Your definition of a nice day is cracked,” Sergeant Barnes declared, sounding distinctively grumpy. Steve was glad he was turned away from Tony at the moment because it wouldn’t do to show the smile that was insistently tugging at his lips. He was starting to like how grumpy their new companion could be.

“Yeah?” Tony immediately responded, “just wait till you hear my definition of a really bad day.”

“Like when a maniac blew up your home and kidnapped your girlfriend?” Steve asked mildly, motioning to Tony he was going to continue their sweep now.

“No, that was just pretty shitty,” Tony surmised. 

“When you were kidnapped and tortured by terrorists?” Natasha supplied.

“Or when you realized no one was going to pay the terrorists’ ransom and your billionaire-playboy ass was on its own?” Steve threw in.

“More like after when I realized I had eight hours to build my first Iron Man suit and escape said terrorists before they killed the first friend I’d made in twenty years while also coming to the stunning realization that no one back home would miss me that much if I screwed it up.”

“Yeah,” Natasha agreed, “That’s a bad day.”

“Who are you people?” Barnes demanded.

Down the hall, Tony and Steve continued onto the next wheel spoke. This corridor appeared full of smaller private offices, each spaced a little apart from the rest. Steve assigned them each one side of the corridor since Steve and Tony couldn’t fit into the smaller offices together. They continued to clear the rooms together, though, kicking in each door at the same time so no one could shoot them in the back from the office across the hall. 

The room was small and square, with a large desk dominating the center, one chair behind and two before it. Two computer screens sat on the desk along with a laptop crowding the surface. A ‘Hang in there kitty!’ poster decorated one wall, along with some strange knick-knacks, possibly from vacations, or gifts from family. 

Keeping his opinion that no one could possibly need two screens and a laptop at one desk time to himself, Steve called, “Clear.”

“Clear,” Tony confirmed.

“In spirit of equality and all that, what was your worst day, Cap?” Tony asked, keeping up the chatter on the line.

Steve was inordinately grateful, even if the question wasn’t one he wanted to answer.

“Yeah, Steve, tell us your tale of woe,” Natasha, the traitor, cut in.

“Now I’m curious,” Barnes admitted.

All right, so maybe the silence was getting to everyone.

“Before, or after the ice?” Steve asked, avoiding the question.

“Worst day ever,” Tony insisted. 

“No,” Natasha demanded, “Before. I think we already know about after.”

Steve and Tony cleared another room, buying him a moment of time. 

“Clear,” he sighed, “Coming home to find the telegram on my door that said they’d quarantined my mother in the TB ward.”

“What does that mean for those of us not a century old?” Tony demanded.

“It means...” the sergeant started, but went quiet so suddenly Steve realised the man was biting down the first words he wanted to say. The consideration was…a pleasant surprise. “In those times, TB wards were death sentences. Once a person went in, they never came back.”

“It also meant I’d never see her again,” Steve supplied, “since they’d never let me in with my health problems, and that I likely only had five-or-so years left myself because there was no way in hell I hadn’t caught it from her. Oh, and we were about to lose the apartment in the middle of the Great Depression when I didn’t have a job. It was winter, so without the apartment and the heat, I wasn’t likely to make it. That whole poor health thing again.”

“Okaaay,” Tony said uncomfortably, “that was depressing. Barnes, you have to have a better story. What is the worst day of your life?”

“Tony,” Natasha groaned.

“Well,” the sergeant drawled out slowly and Steve already started wincing, knowing it was going to be bad. “I have a few that could qualify.”

“Maybe we should not play this game,” Steve tried to interrupt as he and Tony cleared another set of shockingly similar office spaces.

Sergeant Barnes ignored him.

“One was that particularly pleasant moment when I was strapped to a gurney in Azzano, receiving another round of hellishly painful injections and realised that my country, the one I was fighting for, didn’t give a rat’s ass about me, or -

“Cap cared,” Tony interjected. Steve glared at him. That had been really unnecessary.

“- the even more pleasant moment when Hydra decided it would be fun to equip me with a mechanical arm and decided to cut my flesh ones off. While I was fully conscious,” Barnes said wryly. “Oh! And since the normal anesthesia wasn’t working on me, they decided to just forgo it completely.”

Steve saw Tony flinch.

“Seems to me,” Steve said carefully, praying he wasn’t about to step on a landmine, “Hydra would’ve done both arms. How’d you avoid that?”

“And why would you think you know anything about Hydra?” the Sergeant demanded.

“Well,” Tony jumped in, “he only defeated them in World War Two.”

“Clearly not,” Steve said sharply.

“Okay, so you only saved the world from a Nazi takeover.”

“A Hydra takeover,” Natasha corrected.

Tony was probably rolling his eyes as he said, “Whatever. Semantics. Red Skull was a Nazi, therefore Steve stopped the Nazis from taking over the world.”

“Your logic is as full of holes as swiss cheese,” Natasha huffed, “Didn’t anyone tell you that Stoic logic was outdated in the Middle Ages?”

“There was still plenty of effort before,” Steve argued before Tony could try another tactic. His stomach was twisting uncomfortably every time Tony opened his mouth. “I didn’t do anything by myself, and there was still plenty left to do after Red Skull was defeated.”

“At least you can literally say you gave it everything you had,” Natasha said, apparently picking up the sergeant’s dark humor.

Barnes snorted.

“He’s still breathing.”

“I think that was her point,” Steve said dryly.

“How could her point possibly be that you died trying to take down Hydra?”

“Well,” Steve drawled, “It’s not my fault it didn’t take.”

“What?” Sergeant Barnes demanded.

Steve didn't answer. After opening the seventh office in a row, he scowled as he tried to figure out what was different about this room. It was cluttered instead of neat, no desk, seven chairs instead of three. Half of those chairs had been knocked over, a painting yanked off the wall and thrown on the ground. Glass shards glittered in the dark.

“Clear,” Tony said behind him.

Steve didn’t say anything.

Raising his shield higher, he eased into the office and felt Tony come up on his six. Halfway inside, eyeing a very enthusiastic ficus plant, he realised that this room was _smaller_ than the others. Half-hidden by the plant and a gaudy standing lamp with tassels - who put tassels on a lamp? - was another door. Steel, instead of wood, and without any kind of security lock. Instead, it was outfitted with a normal key lock. He turned the handle, but the door didn’t budge. 

Steve sighed. 

“Rogers?” Natasha demanded, her voice having gone higher.

“Locked room,” Steve reported. 

“Locked room with signs of someone knocking shit off the walls,” Tony corrected. “Who even uses mechanical locks anymore? This isn’t the Stone Age.”

“Yes, Tony,” Steve grumbled, “very last century, using actual keys.”

“Want me to…?” Tony gestured to his palm.

“No, we don’t know what’s behind it, we - Didn’t I just go over with you about the consequences of blasting first and thinking second?”

Tony stiffened, but likely because Sergeant Barnes snickered at him. 

“Well, how do you plan on getting in, then? Oh my god, tell me you know how to pick locks. You know how to hotwire cars, picking locks - America’s golden boy, a thief, I love it.”

Steve was glad Tony couldn’t see he was blushing through the NVGs.

“Shut up, Tony,” he grumbled. “I don’t know how to pick locks.”

“Here,” Tony said, putting a hand on Steve’s shoulder, “Let me by and I’ll have the screws in the plate out in a jiffy.”

Grabbing the door handle, Steve grunted and yanked. The entire mechanism came off in his hand, stripping the screws holding it together. Inside the room, the handle fell to the ground and the door swung open. 

“Or do that, Cave Man, who even cares.”

“What did he do?” Sergeant Barnes asked curiously.

“Ripped the whole handle-lock combo right off the door,” Tony reported gleefully.

Steve rolled his eyes, standing back and, oddly enough, fighting a blush. Again even as part of his mind had been tracking the quiet calls of, “Clear,” coming from Barnes and Natasha. While the sergeant either talked too much, questioning and arguing, or fell eerily silent, he did work efficiently. They were easily clearing rooms twice as fast as he and Tony were.

Then the smell hit him, slight, but easily recognizable. 

Blood.

Instantly his Glock was up and Tony’s repulsors whined to life in reaction. Smart man that he was, Tony backed away, giving Steve a clear line of sight. Carefully, he kicked the door open with his foot and then blinked.

“Wait a second, Mrs. Rogers’ son, the _nurse_ , knows how to hotwire cars? Oh man, and you were goin’ on about _my_ fingers.”

Steve didn’t answer, just stared at a crude barricade of desks, cubicle walls, and metal shelving. It seemed everything that wasn’t bolted down was piled on top of the rickety and ineffective barricade, even empty trashcans and computer monitors.

“Huh,” said Tony, “Is that a keyboard? Are they keeping us out with a keyboard?”

“Steve?” Natasha pressed, her voice still too high.

“I smell blood,” Steve said quietly, “A lot of it.”

“Do I blast it now?” Tony asked, but his tone was far more serious now.

Steve considered, eyeing the barricade. They still didn’t know what was on the other side. In the end, he nodded. Lifting his hand, he then signaled for Tony that they’d take the room hard and fast. If anyone was on the other side, they wouldn’t know what was about to hit them.

As it was his turn to stand back, Steve got out of Tony’s way. Covering his eyes, he listened for the whine and whumph before looking up again. Everything exploded inward, debris flying everywhere. Tony didn’t wait, flying into the room and scanning all four corners. Following, Steve did the same, but there was nothing.

Well, not nothing. There was a body, slumped in the furthest corner of the room, in a pool of blood.

The man was was around fifty years old with thin, light brown hair cropped close to his skull. No effort had been taken to hide his heavily receded hairline. The tasteful, wire rimmed glasses he wore sat askew on his nose, and there was a thin but very long gash on his cheek. Dressed in typical office attire, white button-up shirt, a tie and dark grey slacks, he didn’t look like anyone special. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, precise and clean and in shocking contrast to the long, parallel gashes on each forearm. The bloody lines ripped up the inside each wrist, to the crook of the elbows. A garishly pink box cutter was clutched in his hand, smeared with blood. 

The same blood that he was sitting in.

“Jesus Christ,” Tony swore.

Steve wondered how scared, how terrified he must have been to have take his own life. The way he’d opened his veins made damn sure he wouldn’t be coming back from it. That he wouldn die here and, with the crude barricade, tried to make sure no one could get to him before he bled out.

“What did you find?” Sergeant Barnes asked.

Until that moment, he had remained quiet and patient, giving them space to clear the room unhindered.

“Somebody who really didn’t want to leave with everyone else,” Tony said brashly.

“Body,” Steve explained, “Suicide, behind a locked door and a barricade. Like Tony said, whatever was happening here, this guy felt he was better off dead.” He took a breath, surprised by how shook up he was by this. “Clear. Let’s move on.”

Walking out, he slapped an adhesive marker on the door and shut it behind them. As he followed Tony back to the hall, Steve glanced over his shoulder at the strip of orange. How long, he wondered, until it would be removed too?


	5. Chapter 5

Leave it to a dead body to kill the mood he had managed to salvage within the creepy atmosphere of the Three Sisters virology building. Even their personal Grumpy Cat had been playing along. Badly, and he certainly wasn't very sportsmanlike, but participating. Sharpening his claws, so to speak. 

It wasn’t just the way he scratched at them with words that reminded Tony of a cat. It was the way he moved. He was as light on his feet as Natasha, though the extra weight that had to be built into his skeleton should have meant he clomped down the corridors. The force of his attitude alone should have alerted anyone to his presence long before he arrived. Yet, when they were together, Tony only knew he was a constant presence at their backs because he’d instructed JARVIS to keep an eye on him. 

Like most cats he’d met, Tony didn’t trust him not to jump them at the first opportunity. Unfortunately for everyone, Captain Goody-Two-Shoes seemed bent on _redeeming_ the angry bastard. He wasn’t doing a very good job of it, but anyone who had known Steve Rogers for twenty minutes knew that’s what he would do the second he found out about the guy’s sob story. It did not help that the people who had tortured the poor sap - okay, it really was a sob story - were Hydra. If Cap came with a ‘Do Not Press Button’, it would have been labeled ‘Hydra’.

Maybe, just maybe, the guy would have been fun to hang with if he’d just _stop_ looking at their Capsicle the way he did. It was a mix between wanting to rip his head off, or lick him from neck to - Was he going to think about exactly where it was Barnes wanted to lick? Then _he’d_ probably want to lick it, too, and this was decidedly not the time for thinking things like that. Especially since he’d never lick certain parts of Steve’s anatomy. Which was perfectly fine; there was plenty of Pepper’s anatomy he could, would, and wanted to make his tongue acquainted with. 

Was there a part of Pepper that wasn’t acquainted with his tongue? He would have to find out. For science.

“Okay,” Tony said aloud, “that’s enough silence for the dead guy nobody knows.”

“Tony,” Steve groaned, stopping with his hand on the lock to the next level they needed to clear.

“What? It is. We didn’t even know the guy, no need for everyone to be so depressed about his unwillingness to keep fighting the good fight.”

Steve shook his head, but Tony saw the way his shoulders relaxed a fraction. Yes, silence was bad. Everyone knew silence was bad except the two assassins who likely thought it was the best thing since the invention of the circuit board. It was not just Tony who hated silence, especially this particular brand of evil-something-is-about-to-jump-out-and-eat-you silence.

“So, we went through Cap’s bad day, Barnes’ bad...days, mine - Sorry, Nat, we all know yours will be even more depressing than Colonel Hogan’s here - so let’s play a new game.”

“Or let’s not,” Natasha said darkly.

“Listen, short, red, and deadly, it’s either play the game, or I can start talking to myself. Your call.”

“Play the game,” Steve grumbled, before unlocking the security door and slipping into the corridor. Because he could be a good little soldier when he wanted to be - and for Cap, he _really_ wanted to be - Tony didn’t suggest a game until he had followed, clearing the corridors at the nonagenarian’s back.

“What kind of game?” asked Sergeant Sneaky-Boots out of fucking nowhere. Tony did _not_ jump in surprise. Just because it was still weird to hear his voice at all had nothing to do with it. He’d had a cramp, that’s all.

“Nothing deadly!” Tony said quickly before the Cyborg came up with any murderous ideas as mood-killing as a dead body. “I was rather partial to storytime anyway. Everyone loves a good story. Even my father loved a good story, right, Cap? Don’t answer that.”

Steve snorted, motioning for them to split up. Tony followed him down the hall, keeping an eye on their back and any branching corridors, while Steve took the front. It was, honestly, a perfectly acceptable place to be. If it was anyone else, he’d have been pissed he wasn’t in front, but it was Steve.

“Let’s play two truths and a lie.” 

Steve and Natasha groaned. _Perfect_. The Cyborg didn’t, and Tony wasn’t sure if it was a good or a bad sign. Not that he cared. 

“Nat, you go first.”

“Why me?” their spy queen demanded.

“Because you start with the best liar in the room. Didn’t the KGB prime you on American party games? These are standard rules.”

“Don’t ask me,” Steve said, though no one _had_ asked him which meant he and Romanov were doing that mind meld thing, “They didn’t have games like that when I grew up… Or I just wasn’t invited to those kinds of parties.”

Tony winced and did not poke the obvious weakness Steve had offered. Before Barnes could, he said, “Nat. Two truths and a lie. Then we guess which one’s the lie.”

“I understood the game when you said the name,” Natasha said dryly. “Fine, _if_ you insist… My name is Natasha Alianovna Romanov, my hair is naturally red, and I follow S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Pausing at the next door, Steve waited for Tony and then kicked it open. They rushed in, found nothing, and announced the thing clear. Tony would never be able to hear that word again without remembering this little adventure. Were all military ops so...predictable?

“Way to suck the fun out of the game, Natasha,” Tony sighed, watching the door as Steve searched further into the break room they’d stumbled into. “How are we supposed to know which one is the lie? They’re _all_ boring.”

Barnes and Natasha cleared their room before she responded.

“It’s your game, Tony. I’m just following the rules.”

The sudden chuckle from Barnes into the comms was not what Tony wanted to hear. It was never what Tony wanted to hear. From the way the smell of Steve’s arousal suddenly filled the air, it was, apparently, what _he_ wanted to hear. Or not. On second thought, he probably hated how that sound made him feel. Prude.

“What’s so funny?” Tony demanded.

“You,” Barnes responded before calling, “Clear,” and Natasha echoed him immediately after.

“What? I know I’m hilarious, but not at this particular moment.”

From the other end of the room, Steve motioned for Tony to follow. Crossing the break room, he breached the door behind Cap and they stepped into another hallway. The only door besides the one they’d come in from was directly across from them. Which, when Tony flicked his eyes to the floor plan, should not have been the case. This was supposed to be another floor of cubicles. It had a security lock, another anomaly.

“Because she lied,” Barnes explained with unreasonable cheer in his voice.

“That was the point of the game, old man,” Tony huffed. 

Barnes was still chuckling and Tony had the nasty suspicion he was laughing at him, not with him. Probably because he wasn’t laughing at all.

“I seriously doubt it.” 

Before him, Steve paused, calling up the schematics that were not conveniently displayed on a visor like they were inside the Iron Man helmet. That was his own fault, too. Tony had offered on more than one occasion to upgrade the out-of-date Captain America helmet. Steve claimed he preferred things low-tech. 

“What’s so funny?” Tony demanded. When no one answered, he resorted to dirty tactics. Plying Steve with begging. “Cap, what’s so funny? Why do I feel like he knows something I don't know?”

“She lied about all of it Tony,” Steve said with a sigh that sounded a lot like ‘I told you so,’ and a frown at the hologram in his hand. He tapped it like he thought it might not be working correctly. Rude.

“How can _you_ possibly know that?” Tony demanded. “Both of you!”

“There is no Russian name ‘Alianov,’ Barnes cut in because Steve had apparently talked with Tony for too long a period without interruption, and the territorial beast needed to be fed again. The psychotic Omega was the most possessive person Tony had ever met. When someone dared to take more than ten seconds of the Captain’s time, he was provocative and nasty. It was exactly ten seconds. Tony had timed him. “So she can’t be a daughter of an Alianov.”

“She’s not a natural redhead,” Steve admitted.

Tony would have stumbled, except they hadn’t started moving yet. Steve was still poking at the hologram, trying to get it to change to what was right before their eyes.

“Steven Grant Rogers!” Tony yelled, shocked, dismayed, and unbearably curious.

“And she’s definitely not following S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Barnes said before refocusing on Steve, like that was a surprise. “And how do you know that little tidbit, Captain?” 

“I have an anomaly in the building layout,” Steve reported instead of answering. 

“JARVIS,” Tony said calmly, “It is imperative I know if Steven is blushing.”

“The temperature in Captain Rogers’ face has risen point five degrees, sir.”

“HA!” Tony crowed.

Still not answering, Steve insisted, “Tony, focus, please. Can you tell me anything about what’s on the other side of that wall?”

“If I could,” Tony said conversationally, “don’t you think I would have done that by now?”

“No, not really,” Steve sighed.

Wonderful, that was the tone he had been using with Barnes.

“Excuse me if you happened to say something very important,” Tony huffed. “Barnes wanted to know, too.”

“Very interested,” Barnes confirmed dutifully. What a nice change. Tony could get used to that.

“We’re clearing the room, Tony,” Steve said stoically, meaning that avenue of information was cut off.

“Okay,” Tony agreed, following to the door. Steve palmed the security lock, the door popped open, and they swept inside. After nearly a hundred repetitions of the same maneuver with Steve, it was as easy as breathing. No wonder they guy was all about practicing tactics. It actually worked.

“Server room,” Steve announced, “Clear.”

Tony was too busy staring. The room was huge, easily taking up half of the floor. From the door, they could only see the far wall because of the corridor that ran between the two massive columns of servers spanning the entire length of the room. At least fifty of the behemoths stretched to the ceiling, enough computing power to house another JARVIS. Maybe two if there were more than he could see.

“Tony,” Steve started and then realized they were standing in a computer room and he was woefully unable to understand what they were looking at. It also reminded Tony that he was supposed to _tell_ Steve these things.

“This not just a server room,” Tony said slowly. “This is…”

Tony took off across the room, ignoring the way Steve sputtered behind him and shouted his name. The sound was distant, anyway, an irritating suggestion that his attention belonged elsewhere, and that was definitely not the case. Tony’s attention belonged on the glorious rows and banks of servers, a supercomputer that rivaled his own. It would be encrypted, of course; but he had cracked S.H.I.E.L.D.’s code. He could crack this. ...Okay, JARVIS, could crack this. Tony, most probably didn’t have the time, but JARVIS was like an extension of Tony’s own mind, so it was exactly like he was the one cracking the code.

The terminal was sleek, but typical for any server room. In moments, he had bypassed the personnel security login and was uploading JARVIS onto the cluster. This was exactly what they had needed, the break, the _information_ that had been withheld on what the fuck people were doing that could create hellhounds, and plagues, and super soldiers that went rogue.

“Sergeant,” a part of Tony’s mind heard Steve say, “you and Nat make your way to our position, other side of the breakroom. I haven’t cleared the room, so be on guard.”

“Copy that, Captain,” Grumpy Cat answered, not nearly as grumpy as Tony expected when taking a direct order. Was the guy getting nicer? That did not bode well.

Neither did the surprisingly advanced security system he was coming up against. It was good. Not nearly as good as he was, but posing a slight challenge. If he could just inject a packet into the code here, he’d have access to...

The next thing Tony was aware of was the server door opening again. 

“This would be so much easier if I could actually put my fingers on the keyboard,” Tony said, more to himself than anyone else.

“Don’t you dare,” Steve said sharply.

“Aww, Cap, you do care,” Tony said, but could hear the distraction in his own voice. “Don’t worry, I’m not suicidal.”

Steve might have mumbled, “Could have fooled me,” but Tony wasn’t paying enough attention.

“Sergeant,” Steve said, his voice tight like he was worried. What was there possibly to worry about? Tony was going to solve all their problems. “Hold position. Make sure nothing decides to surprise Tony while he’s...occupied. Nat, we’re clearing the room, then the floor.”

That caught Tony’s full attention.

“Wait, what?” Tony demanded, pausing his work to stare at their fearless leader.

“Really?” Barnes said at the same time, as surprised by the order as he was. 

“Yes, really,” Steve said shortly, about five seconds from Angry Cap mode. 

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Tony protested anyways.

With Natasha and Barnes there to watch their backs, Steve was willing to drop his defensive stance and storm the few feet between them. He got right in Tony’s face and Tony did his best to ignore the way his stomach twisted with guilt. Disappointing Steve, letting him down and making him angry were the only times Tony felt bad any more - except for when he was doing the same things to Pepper. They were, really, the only two people who he wanted to think well of him these days.

“You were completely oblivious to anything around you thirty seconds after we walked in here,” Steve snapped. “You left yourself completely open to attack, so, yeah, you need a fucking babysitter. Sergeant Barnes is the best choice, so you will. Listen. To. Him. You don’t listen to me, but you will fucking listen to him.”

“I listen,” Tony disagreed because he did. He always listened to Steve. The huff and half-roll of his eyes said Steve didn’t believe it for a second. 

“Sir,” JARVIS said, “I believe Captain Rogers is upset because you caused him to fear for your life.”

“Oh,” Tony said, then louder, “Oh, Steve -”

“Save it,” Steve snapped. “Sergeant -”

“I’ll keep your boy safe,” Barnes said and Tony couldn’t figure out if there was a sneer in his voice or not. Oh, who was he kidding? It was Barnes, there was definitely a sneer.

“Keep yourself safe, too,” Steve snapped, his ire turning easily since Barnes had questioned his orders again.

The Sergeant merely offered a two fingered, unregulation salute. Not attacking, not challenging, when Steve was already angry. Professionalism? Or that being nicer thing Tony had considered for a half-second?

To Tony’s surprise, Steve’s lips quirked upward at the edges.

“Tony, you have thirty minutes to figure out whatever it is that’s so fucking important.” 

He turned away, Natasha following at his back to clear the rows of server racks, the shield and gun - gun! - hoisted again. Tony’s mind snagged on the gun very single time. Logically, it made perfect sense. Armies needed guns because they were made up of soldiers who used those guns. Cap was the epitome of a soldier, everything the Army, _any_ army, wanted their boys to be. It still just wasn’t like Cap. The shield, the shield Tony’s father had made, was his best weapon and he had always gone for it first. Not here, though. No, here among the silence and the germs that would kill Tony if a single filter broke down, he was using a gun. Tony didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all.

“I don’t really care what you like, Tony,” Steve said over the comms.

“Oh, was I talking out loud?” Tony asked absently, gaining enough self awareness to realize he was back working at the console and, likely had been talking to himself. “Sorry, I think. What did I say? Was it offensive?”

“It was moronic,” Barnes supplied. “A soldier needs a gun.”

“A soldier needs a weapon,” Tony corrected, “If someone took that fancy assault rifle of yours, would you or would you not: a. still be a soldier and b. still have a weapon?”

“I am a weapon,” Barnes snarled.

“Case and point, thank you very much. Our patriotic leader _has_ a weapon. An iconic, effective weapon, yet he’s running around with a gun.”

“Now I have two weapons,” Steve quipped.

“Three,” Tony corrected, JARVIS had picked up most of the work so his mind was able to concentrate on both that and the conversation, “Remember, that’s one of the arguments at your trial this time. Steven Grant Rogers, you are a weapon.”

“The judge has yet to rule on that, Tony.”

Natasha sighed.

“Clear. Steve, if you’d just let me take care of this guy, he’d stop bothering you. This is, what? The fourth time?”

“Fifth,” Tony corrected, “in three years. Natasha?” he asked sweetly. “Are you a weapon, too?”

“I could kill you with my little toe, Tony,” Natasha said seriously.

Tony chuckled, refusing to acknowledge Barnes’ presence behind him, or the little red star JARVIS had assigned to him on Tony’s display. Their ‘teammate’ unnerved him, but he wasn’t about to let that be any more obvious than it was. For all he knew, that would just inspire the asshole to do something worse than he already had.

“I’m going to classify that answer as a yes, but don’t say it too loud, then you’ll be back in front of Congress again.”

“The hearing is not in front of Congress,” Steve said patiently. “It’s in front of a Congressional subcommittee.”

“What is with you two and semantics?” Tony grumbled.

The ten seconds grace period for Steve talking with somebody else was up, so Barnes demanded, “The hearing is about the Captain being a weapon? As in non-human?” 

Tony scowled at the computer terminal. Really, they should have been through by now. The security system was good, really good, creating weaknesses that were just traps as he and JARVIS tried to outmaneuver it and shut it down. They were going to win, there was no doubt about that, but it wasn’t the five minutes he had anticipated. 

“Yeah, General Ross has a real bee up his bonnet about it,” Tony said casually, rotating his wrists to retract the suit gloves so he could really get cracking. Every single one of his screens flashed red and Tony realised what he was doing. With a small, mournful sigh, he noted, “JARVIS, remind me work on the agility in the gloves. This is really rather ridiculous, don’t you think?”

“Noted, sir.”

“Anyway,” Tony went on because god knew Steve wasn’t angry enough about it any more, “the guy really wants to have Steve ruled as property of the U.S. Army. We’ve yet to figure out what he wants to do _after_ that, but that’s the short of it.”

The Sergeant’s star began prowling in tight arcs behind Tony’s back, the marker moving back and forth and distracting Tony with the almost metronomic movement.

“Is that even a possibility?” Barnes asked, an odd tone to his voice.

Tony snorted before anybody had a chance to respond.

“Not with Stark Industries’ legal team on Cap’s side. Pepper and I have been making it painfully clear what will happen if the senators even _think_ about ruling in General Ross’ favor.”

“But without your backup, would it be a real threat?” Barnes pressed in that artificial calm to his voice that sent shivers down Tony’s back for no apparent reason. “That a human being is officially declared property of a government? Doesn’t the Constitution forbid such a thing?”

“Theoretically,” Steve explained in an even voice. “Ross has made a number of arguments, but they all boil down to the concept that Steven Grant Rogers is not important, just the ‘vessel’ for the serum created by Project Rebirth. Since the serum can’t be separated from me, and the serum is property of the D.O.D. and S.H.I.E.L.D., I am property as well. Subject to the same laws as any other piece of equipment. Last time he also tried to argue that I had never been discharged from the Army as well, but that only ended with the D.O.D. having to ‘loan’ my service to S.H.I.E.L.D.” 

“Hm,” was Barnes’ only response.

Ignoring the terminal - who was he kidding, JARVIS was doing all the work - Tony turned around and glared at the Grump as best as he could through his faceplate. It was, according to Rhodey, very effective. Even Cap had paused a time or two at the disturbing display.

“That’s it?” Tony demanded. “After all that pacing, just, ‘Hm?’ No witty, scathing commentary? Just monosyllabic grunting?”

The man didn’t look as though Tony was bothering him at all. He only shrugged, briefly distracting Tony with the incredible fluidity of the metal shoulder’s movement. The tech mimicked human muscle perfectly, right down to the shift and slide of flexing muscles bulging against ‘skin’. It was fascinating, not to mention intriguing that something designed as a weapon also had such a high level of sophistication. The plates clicked lightly against each other and Tony’s hands itched to get a screwdriver between them and find out how it worked. Surely he could improve on the design, learn how it functioned, and potentially market it as the newest wave in prosthetics. Not that Barnes would ever let him.

“Kind of surprised, that’s all.” And there was the dark and nasty tone Tony remembered from the show Fury had orchestrated for Steve’s benefit.

“That the military is trying to declare Cap’s their property?”

“No,” Barnes answered, no longer sounding quite so mean, “I know exactly how much people love to _own_ other humans, how they get off on that power. I spent over fifty years as somebody’s property.”

Tony would have face-palmed if he hadn’t had the suit on. Everyone knew that. Everyone. There was exactly no need to keep repeating it except for to make everyone feel sorry for him. Maybe remind Steve he was still a prisoner? Manipulative bastard.

Sighing, Tony decided to face-palm anyways, even if it didn’t feel as good; it got his opinion across.

“Then what’s so surprising?” Tony asked slowly.

Barnes stopped pacing, but didn’t bother facing Tony, only tilted his head towards him a little.

“That he’s letting other people fight for him, believing a bunch of pencil pushers will make sure he’s safe. If he’d responded as he should have the first time round, there wouldn’t be a single repeat performance, much less four of them.”

“And what do you classify as a ‘proper response’?” Tony demanded.

At the same time, he heard Steve groan, “Tony, no. Don’t -”

“No, no,” Tony insisted. “I want to know what our cyborg would do so much better if it was his freedom on the line.” 

Barnes jumped on the topic, eager to prove himself superior or voice whatever drivel he considered important between his crazy ears.

“A general, who probably hasn’t seen real combat in decades, and some senators? Easy. Get the General, kill him slowly and painfully. Film it. Dismember him. Leave body parts in the bedrooms of all the people in line to take over his job, the senators' bedrooms, along with the recording. See if anybody dares to try making you a slave again.” 

The words were said with such nonchalance, that Tony realised for the first time, why Natasha had warned Steve that the Winter Solider was dangerous. Not because he was such a powerful weapon - in that category Tony had him beaten five ways to Sunday. No, Barnes’ sheer bloody cold-mindedness. There was no hesitation, no posturing, or bragging as he described what he would do to anyone threatening his agency. Considering his history, it wasn’t an idle threat either. Instead, it was likely something Barnes had already done without a shred of remorse. Torture, murder; he didn’t care about the General’s reasoning. He would deserve whatever Barnes dished out. 

“You do realize he’d then go to jail for murder.”

“Please,” Barnes rolled his eyes. Well, Tony thought he rolled his eyes. He couldn’t see it, but it was there in the single word. “First they would have to prove it was him.”

“Besides the fact that I’m not committing murder,” Steve said dryly, “attacking my country because one man has a bug up his ass about national security and whether or not I’ll go rogue, _proof_ didn’t stop anyone from locking you up, did it, Sergeant?”

“Hm, didn’t it?” Barnes murmured. “Instead of killing me, they locked me up. Sooner or later they would bring me a deal. Ask Fury what he thinks of the decision to keep me.”

“My point,” Steve said, ignoring the path Barnes wanted him to go down, “is that you gained your freedom to lose it again, and you’re just going to repeat that - clear - until someone kills you.”

“I wasn’t fighting the US at the time, only Hydra. Oversight, I know. I should have bled this government some, too. I guess I got sentimental.”

“This time,” Steve sighed, “Next time? Is it S.H.I.E.L.D. on your list for keeping you in the Raft? Someone else? Doesn’t matter. You get out, you do..., _that_ , you go back in.” 

“Rinse, repeat,” Tony added helpfully.

“Oh, I don’t think so. Next time I won’t hesitate to kill ‘innocents’ the way I did before. Besides, it’s not the incarceration I’m angry about. If S.H.I.E.L.D. starts acting the same way Hydra did, they’ll share the same fate.”

“You can’t -” Steve started to protest, but Tony quickly interrupted.

“No, Cap, he’s right, it will be different. This time they’ll send us after him, and after - as he put it - he doesn’t ‘hesitate to kill innocents,’ we’ll put him down. He won’t go back to the Raft again.”

“Tony,” Steve tried again.

“No, Rogers,” Tony snapped, his glare still fixed on the unmoving Winter Soldier. “It’s one thing to defend yourself, or kill the bastards who hurt you, it’s another to bring people into it who’ve done nothing wrong. You and I both know you’ll give the order.”

“It’s funny, the kind of illusions you live under,” Barnes drawled. “So straightforward. So…innocent. Strange.”

“Your denial is incredible,” Tony started.

Steve growled, “Tony, shut up.”

“It’s not about firepower Tony,” Natasha cut in finally, her voice tense. “He’s not talking about going out in a blaze of glory. He’s talking about destroying the _will_ to fight. It’s a more brutal solution, but ultimately very effective. Convincing people something is too expensive, not worth it, or simply taking away the sense of power his opponents have.”

“Why would you think I don’t know that? I was an arms dealer. Shock and awe? What did you think the purpose of the Jericho Missile was? Asking our enemies to tea?”

“I’ve already seen you defeated once, and you did that to yourself.”

“Yes, myself. Alone, before - Natasha. We’re a team, or are you not on my side all of a sudden? Because I honestly thought you’d have my back. I’m hurt.”

And it did hurt. Not that he let it seep into his voice, no he made that teasing. Of anyone, Natasha knew his weaknesses and he had expected her to help cover them. That was the point of fighting in a team, wasn’t it? All those lectures Steve was always going off on? If that _wasn’t_ the point, maybe he should have actually been paying attention.

“It’s not about being on his side, Tony,” Natasha said, her voice uncharacteristically gentle. “But there’s a thousand kinds of pain and cruelty you have not experienced, nobody has. He’s saying he’ll find a way to break you, because there’s always a way to break a man. How do you think Widows were made?”

“I understand perfectly well what he’s saying, Natasha. _You_ forget we have Cap on our side. He doesn’t back down from anything. Mr. Badass here starts something, he will finish it and the rest of us will have his back. Why the hell are you two letting him think he’ll get away with it?”

“Shut up and think about that question,” Steve snapped. “Then stop letting him provoke you.”

Tony snapped his mouth shut fast enough his teeth clacked together painfully. Hadn’t he been worried about Barnes stabbing them in the back? Maybe he should have been more worried about him tearing them apart. Turning them on each other. Because, now that he was thinking about it, it didn’t make sense to try and convince the Winter Soldier they were a threat. If he thought them weak - and he had no way to learn about the rest of the team - they had an advantage. An advantage he’d almost given away. Twice.

Taking a deep breath, Tony said, “Sorry, Cap.”

“No harm done,” Steve said, no longer sounding angry, thank Christ. “We do have your back, Tony. Sergeant, I didn’t think antagonizing your teammates was considered professional. Am I mistaken?”

“Clear,” Natasha’s voice said softly.

“Not sure this qualifies as a team, Captain,” Barnes said calmly, no trace of anger in his voice. “Didn’t you tell me how nobody is more deserving than anybody else in a team?” Barnes’ voice dipped through the registers. “Yet, when push came to shove, you chose your side pretty quick.”

Steve sighed.

“I have your back, too, Sergeant.”

Barnes was went quiet, once again marking out that semi-circle, back and forth, that was slowly driving Tony insane.

“Good to know,” Barnes said finally, his voice impossible to read. 

“Tony,” Steve said, apparently deciding to change the topic, “What have you found?”

It was a good thing the Iron Man suit kept anyone from seeing how his chest puffed up at the question. Not, ‘did you find anything.’ Confidence that Tony wouldn’t have acted the way he had if he wasn’t sure there was something to find. He just didn’t want Barnes to know how much that meant to him at this exact moment.

“So far, we’ve pissed off their security system, but I did that when I got Dr. Clarkson’s notes. Seems he was working on weaponizing a strain of hemorrhagic fever. Airborne vector with the inability to survive for more than thirty minutes outside of a host. If dropped into a location, it could wipe out an entire population and self-sterilize in less than twenty four hours. Imagine the uses.”

“I’m imagining,” Steve said dryly, “What’s a hemorrhagic fever?”

“Bleeding from every orifice,” Tony supplied, “until your internal organs shut down and liquefy. Not a pretty way to go.”

Steve’s subsequent silence was telling, so Tony wasn’t surprised when his next order was, “Make sure JARVIS deletes what he’s found.”

“Already on it,” Tony declared happily, turning his attention to fulfilling Steve’s order. 

Once more keeping in mind his own conclusion that Barnes might stab them in the back, Tony turned off his external speakers with a gesture. Just because he hadn’t said anything yet, didn’t mean he agreed with the Avengers’ unspoken understanding of how to deal with unethical science. Besides, if he could salvage the data, he could probably trade it for...something. Not freedom, Steve was offering him that.

“JARVIS, show me what the Cyborg is doing.”

A small screen popped up on his internal displays, showing the feed from one of the many cameras tucked around the suit. In it, he could see Barnes unmoving at the furthest point of the arc, his flesh hand resting on the butt of his rifle, his metal arm lose at his side. He was watching Tony, body tilted towards him and expressing…curiosity, maybe? Whatever it was, it was not guarding Tony’s back.

Tony turned the speakers and microphone back on.

“No threat in this direction, Evil Dead.”

“Weren’t we sent here to recover the site so they don’t lose information?” Barnes asked. “Otherwise, why don’t they just nuke the place? It’s far enough from civilization and we have an eminent threat to the entire world population.”

“Woops,” Tony chirped, “My finger slipped. Oh dear. It’s gone forever.”

Natasha chuckled.

“I guess accidents happen,” Barnes said deceptively agreeably. 

“JARVIS,” Tony drawled, “make sure you delete any backup drives, too.”

“Glad you see things our way,” Steve said to Barnes.

“Just following orders, Captain,” Barnes drawled in response. 

The Sergeant turned back around and Tony managed to relax a fraction. It likely hadn’t been one of his best plans to antagonize their Grumpy Cat when they were alone. Not only tactically unsound, they had an entire base to finish clearing together. He could see now _why_ it had happened, but he should not have let the Omega get under his skin like that. 

“Before your little accident with the files,” Barnes asked conversationally, “did you manage to find something that could explain the situation here?” 

“The hellhounds?” Tony clarified. “Not in Dr. Clarkson’s files. JARVIS, once we get around this security - ah, there we go.”

A green light had popped up in Tony’s suit, indicating JARVIS had successfully convinced the security system that they were friendlies. No threat here. They would be able to peruse the data on the supercomputer, as well as any connected networks, assuming they still had power. It was, now that he was thinking about it, odd that this room still had power. No, not the room, just the computers. Back up generator? Was Dr. Clarkson using this to finish his research on the plague?

“JARIVS, start scanning for any active networked terminals. Also look for anything involving genetic mutations, or experimentation on canines.” 

“Any results?” Steve asked, uncharacteristically eager. 

“Not yet, Steve-o. There’s… Holy mother - Sorry, Steve, know you don't like the language. There’s a _lot_ of data to parse. It’s like they kept a copy of every note made since the Fifties. Seriously, it’s going to be a nightmare. JARVIS is good, but he’s practically working off a wifi signal here. It’s going to be slow going.”

“How long?” 

“Can’t say, depends on the amount of results, how many networked computers there are, and how much data is stored on the servers here. He’s going as fast as he can, Capslock.”

The first results of JARVIS’ queries were loading onto the visor screen. The list was lagging as JARVIS tried to keep up with the supercomputer spitting out data at lightning speed. They were definitely suffering from a bounty of information, or the military was suffering an extreme case of hoarding. Was that record dated 1949? Who even put in the effort to transcribe all that data into modern hard drives? Oh god, JARVIS would have to perform searches on scanned documents. This was actually going to take hours.

“I’m not yelling, Tony.”

“Yeah, okay, so that wasn’t one of my best jokes. Sue me. Are you two almost back?”

“Ten minutes. I’m more disappointed you’ve used it before. You’re slipping.”

More results were flashing up onto his screens. Without a status bar, he had no way to judge the progress. And shit, the suit was running out of harddrive space to store all the data. Thankfully, JARVIS could see the problem too and was now sending the information to Stark Tower to upload on their mainframes. Which would be fine, except now it had to go there, then back, and the satellite uplink was not the fastest horse in the race. It was like a horse with a limp and a blind jockey. They’d make the finish line, but who even knew when that would happen.

“Hang on,” Tony blurted, “That was way more than ten seconds. You okay, Barnes-y?”

There sudden movement, something incredibly fast racing by his faceplate making all his proximity and warning sensors start flashing imminent danger. Tony jumped back instinctively, even though he knew the suit could and would protect him from nearly any attack. He yelped even as his external mics fed him a strange, squealing sound coming from the opposite side of the room

“Tony, Sergeant, _status_ ,” Steve barked.

“Are you freaking insane?!” Tony yelled at the Cyborg, itching to fry him with his repulsors now. “Did you just throw a knife at me, you crazy bastard?!”

“Report!” Steve practically shouted.

Barnes was paying as much attention to Tony as Tony was paying to Steve. Circling him, another knife already in his palm, his face around the NVGs was blank. Tony raised his hands, powering up his repulsors, and abruptly realized Barnes wasn’t looking at him, but at something to his left.

Turning sharply, repulsors still ready to blast anything that moved, Tony watched Barnes bend down and extend his metal hand. Seconds later he straightened out with…a rat in his hand. Well, something that bore a vague resemblance to a rat. On enough acid, it could be called a rat. Maybe; it had been a while since Tony had done a lot of drugs. At the moment, all Tony saw was a fucking huge piece of furry flesh, dripping with blood from the very large knife stuck in its large flank. 

The rat’s eyes were huge for its relatively small head, round, and the lids so swollen they were barely identifiable as such. The mouth gapped open on ragged rows of teeth that no rat had ever had. They were nearly an inch long, sticking right out of the jaw and preventing it from closing properly. Its back paws were strangely long and muscular. The front paws were bent at odd angles, almost at forty degrees and were tipped with huge, gleaming claws. 

Tony frowned, eyeing the gleam on both claws and fangs. The light from the computer monitor screwed with the NVGs, but they shouldn’t have been so shiny. Not with how the knife had skewered it. There was blood, of course, the thing had been practically split in half, but the front feet should have been dry with how Barnes was holding it now. And the teeth? Maybe just saliva. Yeah, it was just saliva. And maybe the claws and somehow gotten dragged through the blood on the floor. Wall. Whatever. It was probably perfectly understandable that just the claws were wet.

As Barnes straightened up, Tony saw the man wrinkle his nose and turn slightly away. The thing probably smelled foul, not that Tony could smell anything at the moment. Whatever, Tony doubted it was because the big bad assassin was afraid of a little rat. Well not _little_ and certainly nightmarish, but still.

“All clear,” Tony announced, realizing with a jolt Steve was probably about to start running back to them, “Cherry Darling had to murder a rodent of unusual size.”

“A rodent?” Steve repeated.

“Once upon a time,” Tony said, “I think it was a rat.”

“It’s not a rat any more,” Barnes said darkly.

“Report,” Steve said yet again. Wasn’t that what they were doing?

“Some kind of mutation?” Barnes supplied. “I’m not a scientist. When you get back, see for yourself.”

Steve sighed.

“You’re both all right?”

Barnes sighed. It sounded oddly like Cap’s sigh. 

“Your engineer screamed like a little girl because I threw one little knife, despite the fact he’s in fucking armor, so everything besides my eardrums is all right.”

“I did not scream like a girl,” Tony protested. “I screamed like a terrified forty-year-old man because that’s what I was.”

“Whatever you say, Stark,” Barnes said, “and you’re welcome.”

“If I am safe in my armor from you knife, I’m safe from a creepy-ass rat.”

“Clear,” Steve announced, “On our way back to you.”

“Yeah, _you_ would be safe. You would have then blasted this whole room to pieces in a panic,” the man sounded unreasonably cheerful for a person holding a stinking, mutated rat in his hand by the tail. Granted the hand was metal but still. Stinking mutated rat, it bore repeating.

Tony paused. That…was probably true. Damn it.

“Fine. Thank you, Sergeant Barnes, for protecting my data source.”

From the brief look Tony got of his face, it seemed Barnes hadn’t actually expected his thanks. 

\----


	6. Chapter 6

Bucky shifted his rifle to a more comfortable position and moved closer to the wall, giving the Captain space to lose his speed once he charged into the room. If the cadence of steps he was hearing was any indication, he was definitely going to charge in. Behind him, Bucky heard Natasha’s lighter footsteps follow close behind, and it surprised him she was allowing the reckless speed. Now, as the Captain charged into the room, shield high, Natasha close on his heels, Bucky was well out of the way. 

The Captain turned sharply, taking in the room in a quick, well-practiced sweeps despite their all clear. Bucky appreciated his caution, but also noticed the slight jerk when he realised only Stark was in his line of sight. His wide shoulders tensed and pulled back, then he pivoted on his heel sharply to continue his sweep. Natasha was already facing him as she had covered the opposite direction than the Captain chose without any hesitation, a sign they had worked together for some time.

The more time he spent with her, the more Bucky had come to accept just how complete her training was. She was former Red Room, that much was obvious from the way she moved. Surprising, because he had thought they’d all been eliminated, and irritating because he knew nothing about those people. Besides the fact that they were all insane. Well, maybe not Romanova; she was just cold, the kind of cold the Red Room would have loved. She was so invested in being the perfect spy, she didn’t notice the pieces of herself she was losing along the way. 

As a mission partner, she was ideal, if boring. They cleared rooms quickly, working well together, the way people used to pushing their own emotions away tended to. It was efficient, smooth…but predictable and dull. On the other hand, Stark and the Captain’s antics were exceptionally entertaining. Even the arguments were fun when either became huffy over some detail, as if everything was personal to them. Especially Stark. He was like an overeager puppy, pulling at the leash, wanting to please the Captain. It was such a glaringly obvious weakness.

The Captain’s smell reached his corner and Bucky resisted the urge to inhale deeper. It always took him by surprise how good he smelled. For all Bucky’s instinctive dislike of anything remotely related to Alphas, he couldn’t help but find the smell attractive. It was clean, fresh, and strangest of all, almost completely inoffensive. Stranger yet, Bucky could smell the encroaching rut on the man. Not there, not yet, but soon. 

Absently, Bucky wondered if there was protocol for if it occurred during a mission. Stark was clearly the choice the Captain would have in a partner, but he was safe inside his suit. Natasha, perhaps? Bucky cast a glance over her form. The black tac suit hugged her curves in a flattering manner. Curvy, strong women were certainly his type, and it did not matter to him that she was also an Omega. However, the echoes of the Red Room he could see in her erased any real interest. The Captain had scent-marked her, like Stark, but he hadn’t shown any other interest. 

Bucky’s hands itched to wrap around the rifle and fire at the Captain’s back. He was the other choice. It wasn’t like they made suppressants for a rut, so it would be impossible to stop it. Why would anyone want to make that particular event stop? Bucky’s lips curled in disdain.

Oblivious to Bucky’s thoughts, the Captain finally stopped once he saw Bucky against the wall, half-hidden by the wide open door he had just come through. The moment the man caught sight of Bucky, his shoulders came down as if relieved. Bucky watched the way the man’s tac gear strained over his chest as he lowered his shoulders and exhaled loudly. The NVGs were making it hard to read him accurately, as he could only rely on body language, but he was mostly certain it was relief.

Stray hairs fell into Bucky’s face again, and he shook his head irritably to get them to fall back. Even the NVGs weren’t helping keep them out of his eyes since the air in the base was too dry. They were charged with static and sticking to everything. Who took a guy’s scrunchie from his bag, anyways

“Were you afraid I was gone?” Bucky asked, curious when the Captain didn’t turn away.

“I don’t think I can watch this twice,” Romanov muttered, turning around and quickly walking towards Stark where he had been examining their mutated rodent.

“Watch what?” Stark asked, the question that was on the tip of Bucky’s tongue as well. His inane, non-stop questions were about all Bucky thought he was good for. Most of the time, he hardly had to ask himself because Stark did it for him.

“Rogers,” Natasha said dryly, “We were going through some cubicles and I look over and he’s blushing and apologizing while rifling through some lady’s bag. It was _painful_ , Tony. This,” she waved a hand back at them, “may even be worse.” 

“You can’t tell if I’m blushing,” the Captain grumbled, which meant he was almost certainly blushing then, and likely now. 

Bucky raised his eyebrow to indicate his curiosity.

“I…um...” The Captain straightened his shoulders as if he was facing a threat he’d determined to overcome, “have something for you.”

“Really,” Bucky said, eyeing the Captain speculatively. “You do realize Omega and female are not interchangeable?”

“Shut up,” the Captain grumbled, and Bucky really wished he could see if the blush had gotten worse. 

The hand holding the Captain’s gun lifted as if to point at him and Bucky tensed. Almost at the same time, the owner of the weapon noticed his mistake and it dropped again. To Bucky’s surprise, he didn’t stop there. The shield was slung over a shoulder, securing onto the straps that crisscrossed the Captain’s back. In the same motion, the gun was slipped into his thigh holster. 

“Oh my god,” Stark said unhelpfully, as the Captain pulled something off his wrist. It was too small for the NVGs to pick up clearly, so apparently Stark could see better than the rest of them through them. Maybe his were simply better. Bucky would have to keep that in mind.

“Um, here,” the Captain said, stepping forward with his palm up.

When he got closer, Bucky could see a small bit of dark elastic on his wide palm.

“Scrunchie?” Bucky asked, surprised.

“Yeah,” the Captain said hesitantly, “I, uh, saw that the hair was bothering you and I know you couldn’t find yours and I didn’t think you’d need one, but uh... Here; it should help.”

Bucky blinked down at the hair tie, surprised and…and Rogers was now close enough Bucky could smell him. The Alpha scent of him, the hormones, wrenched at something in Bucky’s chest. Though he was on suppressants, he had been in the middle of his heat before taking them them, leaving the effect weaker than if he had taken them before. Another whiff of Rogers’ scent and Bucky could feel the traitorous heat starting in his belly. It took an effort to stifle the growl that wanted to break through. It wasn’t Rogers’ fault, he knew that; the Alpha was trying to be nice. No need to growl at him for it, especially when Bucky was mostly angry at himself.

“Thank you,” he said, voice dripping closer to a growl, but Rogers didn’t seem to notice. 

Taking the band from Rogers’ palm, Bucky threaded two fingers through the elastic. He tested the give before letting his rifle just hang on it’s strap and reached his hands up, gathering his hair into a tail. The elastic looped easily around and held in place. 

Lowering his arms, Bucky breathed out a sigh of relief when the hair was finally up, keeping it out of his eyes and letting him feel the cool draft on his overheated skin. He rolled his shoulders, went to lift his gun, and realized the Captain was not only staring at him, he hadn’t budged an inch. The eyes behind the NVG visor were focused on his chest which he had unconsciously pushed out while tying up his hair.

Anger and hate washed through him to find the Alpha interested.

“Take a picture,” Bucky drawled, tossing his head back. “It’ll last longer.”

Rogers’ gaze snapped back to his face and he cringed. The reaction certainly hadn’t been one of fear, more like he had been caught doing something inappropriate. As if, somehow, he didn’t _want_ to be attracted to Bucky. 

“Sorry,” Rogers blurted, then turned sharply on his heel and marched over toward Tony and Natasha. Bucky’s jaw dropped. Had he heard that right? It had sounded like an honest-to-god sincere apology.

“Tony,” Rogers went on, “I never thought I’d say this to you, but I think I want you to hire me some strippers when this is over.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched and he glared at the retreating muscular back with its trim waist and firm muscles.

“Yes!” Tony cheered. “This is so happening. JARVIS, clear my schedule. Let’s focus on this little beauty, first, hmm? Check this out, Cap. You’ll never have seen anything like it.”

Though it meant no one would be guarding the door, Bucky stalked after Rogers. They stopped at the table Stark has cleared of tools, cords and parts and laid out the rodent. Bucky’s knife was still piercing it’s hairless body, but it had stopped bleeding by then. The smell hadn’t gotten any better, he noted as they got closer.

“Pretty sure I have,” Rogers said dryly, “Lovely shades of green and more green, with the exciting variety of green on top.” 

Rogers pulled his NVG’s off, ruffling his short hair so it stuck up in all directions. Parallel lines marred his cheeks where the goggles had sat, fading as he rubbed his face with his gloved hand. He scrubbed at the marks before running his hands over his head, making his hair even more of a mess. Bucky stared. He looked…rather fetching all mussed up.

“Give me some light?” Rogers asked.

It was a warning to the rest of them. Romanova turned around, protecting her vision, but Bucky opted for pulling his own goggles off. He wanted to see the rat with his own eyes, wanted to see all the details that the NVG’s were blurring. His eyesight was extraordinarily sensitive, and the slight glow produced by the NVG’s was fucking with his eyes’ natural adaptability.

When he pulled the goggles up, the side buckle twisting oddly, catching on his cheek and leaving behind a long, thin scratch across his temple. He hissed soundlessly, irritated at his own clumsiness, and rubbed at the scratch. It was nothing, just a slight sting and a the miniscule amount of blood. In moments it would heal, but it was irritating. 

Even in the darkness, he sensed Rogers turning to look at him, his regard a physical pressure.

“Sure thing,” Stark quipped, “Let there be light!” 

The circular glow of Stark’s chest plate grew brighter and brighter, illuminating the area about them in a warm glow. In the light, the thing looked even worse than it had in its shades of green. The eyes were a vibrant red, the same color as the blood growing sticky on his blade. Bucky’s assumption that it was hairless was confirmed, the pale, pink skin blotchy and speckled with a strange blueish tint.

“It’s definitely, or it _was_ definitely a rat,” Stark said, “Bone structure matches for everything except the skull and limbs. Now, what’s been interesting to me is this,” Bucky came around Rogers’ shoulder and found Tony’s gauntleted hand tapping the dead rat’s claws, “For obvious reasons, I can’t analyze a sample -”

“Obvious reasons?” Rogers interrupted and he hadn’t glanced Bucky’s way once since the light came on. Not even once. 

“I would have to bring contaminated air, contaminated tissue, fluid, etcetera, into the suit with me.”

“Oh, yeah, that would… Right. Go on.”

Natasha smiled fondly. Maybe she wouldn’t mind partnering Rogers during his rut. Maybe she had before. The Red Room had taken special pride in weaponizing their Black Widow’s sex appeal. Bucky heard about them when he was still under Hydra’s control. All the girls had been Omegas, taken from their families, and trained to be any man’s weakness, Alpha or Beta. After that kind of training, Bucky doubted Romanova saw sex and intimacy as anything other than a tool. Helping Rogers with his rut would just be helping their team.

“So since I can’t confirm my suspicions, we’ll just have to go with me being a genius when I say my best guess is this is some kind of poison. Teeth and claws. No big deal, it’s just a freaky rat, right? Well, see, I’m thinking that whatever did this to Ratatouille here, is the same thing that created our hellhounds. We should suspect poison and really big teeth. The better to eat us with.”

Barnes frowned.

“Poisons can be debilitating, but - at least _my_ metabolism processes any poisons before they can do any permanent harm. What damage is done is healed quickly.”

Steve held up his hands in a ‘don’t look at me’ gesture.

“I’ve never been poisoned.”

“I have,” Natasha said and Bucky wasn’t surprised by either statement. He expected they had undergone similar training. “My serum also allows me to feel minor effects from most poisons, but there are some that are quite debilitating. Rogers, you’re the only one of us that got the original version, but I suggest we don’t go toe-to-toe with these things to find out if we can fight it.”

“That was a very nice way of you telling me not to be stupid,” Steve said with a half-smile curving his lips. Bucky’s stomach _did not_ swoop. That was not something his stomach was capable of, certainly not at the sight of a _very average_ smile.

“Not just you,” Natasha tilted her head toward Bucky and met his gaze, “Mr. Kamikaze here.”

“Your caution has been noted,” Bucky said sweetly; no one was falling for it.

“Any other information for us?” Rogers pressed Stark.

“When I know, you’ll know, Captain Impatient.”

Steve snorted.

“Better than Capslock. All right, let’s get moving. I assume JARVIS doesn’t need you standing here?”

“Nope, he’s good.”

“I have a question,” Bucky said, dropping his voice to the low drawl that raised everyone's hackles. Rogers, in particular, reacted like somebody had scraped nails down a chalkboard, and Bucky felt the corner of his mouth pull up.

“Shoot,” Tony said before clarifying, “or better, don’t. Ask the question.”

Bucky’s lips pulled up in a full smirk.

“If you have power in the computers,” he began, “can we get the lights on?”

Stark shook his head, motioning in the negative with one hand.

“No, or I’d have it on for us. The power’s coming from a huge UPS.” The faceplate swiveled towards Rogers, “A separate battery that keeps the computers running so data isn’t lost. JARVIS estimates it’s got a forty-eight hour supply of power. We can’t reroute it to the main power grid; it would be gone in an instant. It’s way too vast for that.”

Bucky sighed, looking around the room one last time with his own eyes, taking in the colors the NVG’s would turn to shades of green. Even the various shades of greys and browns of the server room felt more natural, more restful than the endless green of the goggles. He focused on the far away-shelf, felt the way his pupils contracted as the attributes of the shelving became detailed. Each groove and shadow was now visible as his peripheral vision devolved into next to nothing.

Unfocusing his eyes again, he took in the real colors in the room, the members of his supposed team. Romanova’s hair was a banner of red, vibrant and alive in the industrial room. Stark’s suit was red and gold and Bucky spent a few seconds just looking at it, to remind himself that yes, there were other colors in the world than just the green. Rogers was all white skin and blond hair, now sweaty and mussed in his muted, dark blue suit. Even after observing the Captain in it for hours, Bucky couldn’t decide if it was more indecent than functional. The color was a good choice. Pure black would be too eye-catching, too dark, as dark rooms were never truly black. 

The color was a good tactical choice, but the rest… Well, it was something, that was certain. Helplessly, Bucky skimmed his eyes over the powerful frame. Thicker, armored inserts covered the inflexible planes of the lower arms, thighs, and upper chest. The wide shoulders snagged his gaze. If Bucky was attracted to anything it was the width of a guy’s shoulders, and damn, Rogers had something to show off. The silver star, centered on his chest amid stripes that led to the man's biceps forced Bucky’s attention to the incredible pectorals that were trying to burst out of the suit. Rogers’ chest was a ridiculously sculpted V, highlighted by the leather of his utility belt perched on slim hips, and Bucky liked to be honest with himself, a small but spectacular ass. 

It was the stomach section that was driving Bucky to distraction. Who had molded the suit’s stomach to reflect the abdominal muscles? Who? How was a guy not supposed to stare? The leather rig for his shield wasn’t helping Bucky look away, urging thoughts of bondage gear rather than tactical equipment. And the fingerless gloves? Bucky had black fingerless gloves, to make sure his metal had had a good grip on other metal or plastic surfaces. Rogers’ were just an unnecessary accessory. A tease.

“Light off,” Rogers said, pulling out the NVGs from their place on his belt. The glow of Stark’s suit faded and Bucky put the glasses back on, returning his world to green and black, and more green. Bucky had known it was a longshot to get the power working, but it was still disappointing.

Rogers gave the room one last visual sweep, and turned to face the door. 

“All right. Let’s move out, secure the room, and get to the second floor. Sergeant, you’re back with Natasha. Tony with me again. Be on the lookout for more mutated critters, maybe they will lead us to something.”

“So basically, you’re telling us to follow the rats?” Romanova said as she fell into formation easily. 

“Yup,” the Captain said, oddly cheerful, “Into the hole with us!”

“Just like every other Tuesday,” Stark joked, following Rogers’ on point.

Rogers and Bucky watched the darkened hallway as Natasha and Stark secured the server room. They set up explosives around the door, rigged to go off if anyone walked through the door that wasn’t Stark. Some kind of bluetooth signal the suit emitted, Bucky surmised, since no one explicitly told him. He was starting to understand why Rogers was so tight-lipped about information after their last ‘argument’. The Captain expected him to be an enemy sooner or later, holding his cards close to the chest so Bucky couldn’t learn them. It was a level of respect he hadn’t expected, even if it pissed him off.

It also bothered him that they had started to use up their explosives so early in the game. There were still two floors above the ground that needed clearing and ten below. From personal experience, Bucky knew ops went to shit in this place. The plans were already inaccurate, and who knew what the next wrench would be. A superstitious person would say the complex was cursed. As it was, Bucky had a really bad feeling about the place.

At the staircase, they blew the door again, though this time Rogers made a point to stand on Romanova’s other side. The distance Rogers was now keeping between them irked him. It was for only a moment, couldn’t Rogers stay professional for a moment before they took the stairs? Then he was the last one in the line anyway, covering the rear. He was okay with the formation as it gave him some breathing room, but Rogers didn’t have to make such a big deal about being near him. 

As the others went down, Bucky lagged a little behind, both to give himself room to maneuver and to get away from the heat they were generating. Rolling his neck, he wiped sweat off his forehead onto his sleeve. The lack of working AC was starting to get to him. That must be why he was getting so short tempered

Bucky huffed, laughing at himself. Short tempered, ha! There was a constant, low level rage burning in his bones. It was that anger, that hate, that had been his only source of peace and gave him endless patience. Three years’ incarceration? Effortless. Time off from constant combat wasn’t a bad thing, and he had always known he would be free eventually. Fury’s subtle torture? That he would get payment for, in time. There was nothing but time in the Raft. Planning and plotting, being charming to the guards, having them spill what little they knew.

There was a whisper of sound as he reached the landing. A breath, or a breeze, a murmur, a creak; Bucky wasn’t sure _what_ , but he was sure he heard something. Turning around sharply, he raised his rifle and performed a visual sweep of the stairs, the empty open doorway they’d left behind, and the flights of stairs above them.

Nothing moved.

“Sergeant?” the Captain asked from the landing below, hand hovering over the security interface.

“I thought I heard something,” Bucky admitted reluctantly. 

It was rare his ears failed him. Obviously, there was no one behind them. Still… Bucky climbed a few steps, getting a clearer view of the corridor they had just vacated. It was empty. 

“Clear,” he said reluctantly, embarrassed he was so twitchy.

Thankfully, Rogers only nodded and the rest of the peanut gallery remained silent.

Raising his rifle, Bucky rolled his neck again, the heavy tac gear itchy against his overheated skin. He couldn’t remember when the last time the temperature had bothered him this much. An assessing glance at the Captain, clearing the security lock, and the Widow showed no signs that the lack of air conditioning was bothering them. Possibly it was because he was still courting his heat, hormones out of whack by the emergency suppressants. His body would get over it, as it got over everything else. In the meantime, it seemed he was bound to sweat like a pig. The NVG’s were only making his irritation worse, causing a sight headache. Nothing major, but enough that he was that little bit more miserable. 

That everything being so deathly quiet wasn’t helping. At some point, he had started obsessively focusing on the noises the team made. Rogers’ heart, slow and even, and loud. The Captain’s red boots scuffed the floor on the left side, indicating he was either carrying an unevenly balanced pack, or his gear was worn on that side. Romanova moved like a cat: quick, noiseless, distance-clearing steps with sudden pauses. Her heartbeat was freakishly slow and quiet. In his obsession, he had even tried counting the beats, coming up with less than fifty beats per minute. Stark’s suit was stunningly quiet for a machine that large, but emitted a strange hum and whine every time he engaged his thrusters, not to mention the sound of rapidly displaced air. 

Nothing else was making a sound. No doors were creaking, no other machines humming. None of the background noises he had become used to hearing in the Raft. Yet, Bucky’s instincts were telling him not to trust his eyes or his ears, that the place wasn’t as empty as it seemed. It must be what was making him so twitchy, the silence so unnatural Bucky was sure that he _should_ be hearing something. 

Rogers and Stark cleared the hallway, and started on their half of the floor. Bucky bypassed Romanova on the landing, taking point as he had every time. The second floor was almost identical to the fourth, filled to bursting with office spaces and a metric ton of paper. They cleared room after empty room, the silence straining on his ears, moving twice as fast as the other pair. Likely the suit Stark was wearing was slowing them down. Stark was protected from basically anything while inside, and he had proved capable of uplinking to any communications systems outside the complex, or maybe through the complex? They again hadn’t explained anything to him. From what he had seen and heard, the suit’s firepower wasn’t anything to scoff at, but that didn’t make it easier to clear a room quickly.

“Clear,” Bucky said as they confirmed yet another of the million offices were free of hostiles.

“Clear,” Romanov confirmed, following him back into the corridor.

A faint, sour smell struck his nose and he froze. So far the corridors had smelled as they sounded, empty, all lingering scent of people gone. Just their rotting food, Romanova’s oddly spicy scent, and the cloying smell of metal and gunpowder from their weapons. This - he took another step forward and it was more intense - an acidic sourness scraped the back of his throat, making him swallow convulsively. 

Belatedly, he raised his hand in fist to signal hold, and she stopped still inside the office. He didn’t want any distractions as he chased the scent, including her movement, and especially that smell of hers. When she didn’t protest or report in to Rogers, he was grateful they had undergone the same training. She understood he needed to focus.

Shifting the grip he had on the rifle, Bucky took another few steps down the corridor, walking slowly from one side to the other. To an outsider, he weaved as if drunk, while in actuality he was trying to pinpoint the location of the scent. His stomach was flipping unpleasantly, this particular odor dredging up memories that were best left alone. 

At a junction in the corridors, Rogers noticed they were too quiet.

“Sergeant, Natasha, status.”

“Barnes is checking something in the corridor,” came Romanova’s quiet response.

“Alone?” Rogers asked sharply.

“He knows what he’s doing,” Romanova declared.

Bucky paused, surprised at the Widow’s vote of confidence. He had expected to need to defend his decision to go it alone. More than that, it was the second time either Rogers or Romanova had given him more respect than he was used to receiving from people unaccustomed to working with him in combat conditions. He would need to wait and see this was good or bad, but it was definitely new.

Turning to his left, he took a few steps and found the scent was fading. Doubling back, he wandered to the right, and in only a few feet detected the smell had receded again. Turning around, he repeated the maneuver, back and forth, each time walking a shorter distance until he was sure he was standing over the place where the smell was coming from.

“Natasha, you’re in pairs to watch each other's backs. Do you even have eyes on him?”

Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Relax,” he said, forcing himself to sound conciliatory instead of antagonising. “I was tracking a scent and hers is rather distracting.”

There was a heartbeat’s pause and Rogers demanded, “What did you find?”

Bucky freed his left hand and ran it over the nape of his neck, sighing quietly at the relief the cool metal offered.

“I think I found where the first team died,” he said, dropping into that drawl he had perfected to hide his true emotions. “Romanova, down the hall, first junction on the left. It’s clear.”

Before he’d finished his directions, Bucky could hear Romanova moving. In a second, she was at his side, sniffing to try to find what he had.

In a surprising show of honesty, she said, “I got nothing.”

“Report?” Rogers asked, sounding as though he was putting effort into being polite.

Bucky addressed his partner and ignored him.

“I’m not surprised, it’s been cleaned up.” He knelt, motioning for Romanova to do the same and found himself pleased when she didn’t hesitate. “Now? Under the cleaner.”

When her expression snapped closed, he knew she’d found it.

“Vomit, Cap,” she said. “He’s right, this is probably where they died. We’ve found nothing else like it so far.”

“Died and been cleaned up, that’s encouraging,” Tony grumbled.

“Why didn’t they want us to find it, is what I want to know,” Rogers mumbled to himself, “They left the suicide, but cleaned up this? What didn’t they want us to see?” Louder, he said, “Get a flare out, search that whole corridor without the NVGs. Find me what we’re not supposed to know.”

Rogers was asking the right questions and Bucky was pleased he didn’t need to defend his every move. There was yet hope for this mission. Still, the fact that Rogers wasn’t rushing to do it himself was something Bucky didn’t expect. For all the supposed trust the man was a definite do it yourself kind. To his displeasure, it made him want to find the information for reasons having nothing to do with them simply needing to know.

At his side, Romanova broke out a flare and pulled offer her NVGs. Bucky did the same and soon the hall was bathed in brilliant red light. Without a word, they turned in opposite directions and began searching the hall’s walls, floor, and ceiling for any evidence that the special forces team had been here, let alone died here.

“I want to play another game,” Tony declared as Bucky confirmed there were no bullet holes in the walls, or shells glittering in the light.

“Not again,” Romanova groaned, but it didn’t sound wholehearted.

Bucky, frankly, wanted a break from the fucking silence.

“What’s the game?” he asked.

“Ha, way to go Sergeant Sneaky-Boots. Okay -”

“Excuse me?” Bucky demanded. What the fuck kind of nickname was that? Stark talked so much, Bucky wasn’t sure if he even knew what he was saying, or if he just let words leave his mouth without pausing to think.

“- your turn for two truths and a lie - and make it good this time. Natasha’s was - wait, Captain Distraction, you tell me right now how you know Natasha isn’t a natural redhead.”

“Or what?” Steve asked, laughter in his voice. Bucky liked the sound far more than he would admit.

“You better, or Stark’ll start asking, ‘Are we there yet?’ every ten seconds,” he offered. It wasn’t even unlikely. Stark had the attitude of an energetic four year old and was shameless about it.

Bucky closed his eyes for a moment, letting his pupils relax, and opened them. Slowly, he took in the corridor, lit by the artificial light, the planes of it, the corners and shadows and the sterility of it. Nothing seemed out of place. Just another corridor, only not in green this time.

“You better not,” Romanova broke in, but just left the threat hanging in silence, which man she was talking to up in the air. Neither spoke. Bucky instantly wanted to know what she had on them both.

“It’s not polite to leave people out, Romanova. You started it, you have to finish it,” Bucky teased, not wanting to break the strange, but easy mood Stark had set. 

Natasha snorted from somewhere at his back.

“And how did you know I wasn’t a natural redhead, Barnes? You were the one that said I was lying.”

“Redheads smell different.” 

After Hydra’s science department was done with him, the whole world had smelled different, looked different, felt different.

“Yes,” Steve said far too quickly, “That’s exactly it, and why are you calling her Romanova anyway?”

Bucky chuckled; Captain Distraction indeed.

“In Russian, female names have an ‘a’ at the end. You calling her Romanov is like me calling you a ‘she’. Completely wrong gender.”

Bucky stopped at a patch of shadows and took a knee, feeling how the clothes he hadn’t worn for so long stretched over his thighs.

“I do not, nor have I ever minded, Steve,” Natasha said exasperatedly.

“Oh, uh, good,” Rogers muttered. “Sorry anyway. Should I -”

The wall Bucky knelt at was directly opposite the point where he’d found the first signs of the other team. There was nothing, no evidence of any kind. No marks meant they had never fired their guns, never put up a fight. They’d just...died.

“No, it’s fine, you’ll just confuse all the rest of the Americans.”

“Whatever you want, Nat,” Steve said with a short laugh. 

“Anyway, creepy one and creepy two - her smell? Gross - we were waiting for Barnes’ truths and a lie. Barnes? You’re up, buddy.”

Bucky hummed to give himself time to think of his answer and also confirmed there were no scratches, dents, or anything else that would suggest a struggle in the hall. They were so used to him being an asshole, it was interesting to see how would they deal with him being nice.

“Romanova, working with you has been a treat because you’re the most professional person I think I’ve ever met. Stark, I find you incredibly brave. Rogers, I admire your honesty.” 

“Well, shit,” Stark huffed. “At least it’s better than Natasha’s. All right, what do you think is the lie, Nat? I think it’s what he said about me.”

“I think it’s what he said about Steve,” she answered quickly.

Rogers sighed.

“Me, too, and usually that’s what people like about me.” 

Strangely enough, he sounded cheerfully put down. Bucky hadn’t been aware such an attitude was possible. Rogers was… constantly confounding him. Rising to his feet, he moved to get a different view and angle of the area.

Bucky squinted at a smudge on the wall.

“Then you’d have to actually be honest, Captain.”

“What a concept,” Rogers said dryly.

“Your turn Cap!” Stark interjected happily, obviously jealous that the Captain was talking to Bucky. Bucky smirked. It was fun, riling Stark up.

Rogers groaned.

“Really? I pass. You go, Tony. Everyone knows I can’t lie.”

Bucky put his flesh palm on the wall at hip height and trailed it over the plaster, trying to feel for any indication of recent damage, only half paying attention to Rogers’ lame excuses because they broke up the silence.

“No, I want to hear this,” Romanova said, “Two truths and a lie, Steve.”

The wall became rough under his fingertips, pockmarks where the plaster was scuffed just a little. Something had to have scuffed it, but it didn’t tell him much. There was no way to know when the damage had occurred, or what had caused it, as it was so slight.

“Fine,” Rogers grumbled, “Okay, um, Tony I love your beard and uh, it was not my idea to keep the walking American flag suit, and...ah, Sergeant Barnes is rather funny.”

“The beard,” Tony declared immediately, eager to be the focus of Rogers’ attention.

“No, that he thinks I’m funny,” Bucky argued, unwilling to accept that Rogers would look close enough at Bucky to see more than an unwilling conscript.

“Nat?” Steve pressed when Natasha didn’t immediately answer.

When she did, it sounded like she was having trouble breathing.

“You _wanted_ to keep that suit? Oh my god, Rogers. Really? That’s too perfect.”

Bucky paused mid-step, taken aback by Romanova’s lively reaction.

“The symbolism was - is important,” Rogers said almost shyly. “I mean, yeah, it started off as a gimmick, but the flag isn’t -.”

“Holy shit,” Stark blurted, “You like my beard?”

“It makes your jawline stronger,” Rogers said easily, not troubled by being interrupted.

Bucky said nothing, strangely shaken by the small compliment. Thankfully he had something to distract the others from his sudden silence.

“I think I’ve got something here,” he called. “Romanova, can you…”

Before he could finish forming the thought, she was by his side. Motioning to the smudge he’d found on the wall, he stepped back to give her room. Sniffing, she leaned in, a black gloved hand tracing what he hadn’t been sure he had seen. A handprint, hardly visible even in the flickering red light as whatever it was made in was nearly transparent. 

“I see it,” Romanova confirmed, “but it only confirms they were here.”

Bucky sighed.

“Captain, I don’t think we’re going to get you that intel. They cleaned up too well.”

“What did you find?” Rogers asked.

“Handprint, smear really, in vomit. Did you find -”

“No,” Romanova said and Bucky smiled. He appreciated the efficiency instead of being insulted she had interrupted. “You want us to keep looking, Rogers?” 

“No, we’ve wasted enough time. Only had it to spare since you two move so fast.” Bucky watched Romanova smile at the praise and felt his chest swell that not only had Rogers noticed, he wasn’t afraid to admit they were the better team. “Get moving. Good spot, Sergeant.”

Bucky still wasn’t going to say thank you.

As they started down the hall, Bucky said, “Your turn, Stark.”

“You know, Barnes, I think we could be great friends.”

Snorting, Bucky shook his head.

“Don’t hold your breath.”

“Oh, I won’t. You’d have to pull your head out of your ass first. Anyway, I have never done hard drugs. For my thirtieth birthday, I bought a cruise liner and invited Hollywood’s A-list to go on a cruise to Hawaii; they all accepted. Steve and I are compatible.” 

There was a soft _bong_ and Stark yelped in pain.

“What was that for!?”

“That’s private!” Steve said brusquely.

The Captain’s sharp reaction suggested that it was a little more than just private. He wondered if the Captain realised just how intimate he acted with the other Omega. If it wasn’t as unintentional as it appeared.

“Well, now they know it's true,” Stark defended himself petulantly.

“Everyone knew it was the drugs, you asshat!”

Romanova coughed and Bucky realized he had stopped moving forward. Immediately he forced himself to focus on the job, not the odd swooping in his stomach. Yet even as he swept another office for any signs of hostiles, he couldn’t empty his mind. He knew Stark was bonded to some woman named Pepper, but it didn’t seem to matter now he knew they were compatible. Bucky didn’t buy into the romance of soulmates and destinies, but any school child knew it was important to Alphas to feel that compatibility, to know their mate was right for them before they bonded. He supposed it made sense; before the war, he’d heard of Alphas bonding with partners after knowing them only a few hours. Compatibility ensured they wouldn’t be afraid of bonding someone they couldn’t stand. Bucky knew Rogers and Stark were flirty, that they were close, but this...

“Clear,” Romanova called.

“Clear,” Bucky said darkly.

It didn’t bother Bucky. There was no reason it should bother him, so it didn’t. 

“Where did you learn the term ‘asshat’?” Stark broke the silence.

“Oh, shut up,” Rogers grumbled. “I’m ninety six, not brain dead.”

“I want to know,” Stark pressed. “Who taught you ‘asshat’?”

Rogers sighed, giving in because of course he always gave into Stark.

“Clint.”

Following behind him as they returned to the corridor, Romanova laughed. A real, pleasant and lilting sound. Bucky liked it as much as he had liked Rogers’. Not that he’d liked Rogers’ laugh….much.

“Of course he did. I think he likes trying to shock you, Rogers.”

Bucky wondered who Clint was; he sounded like an interesting guy.

“I think he holds the record on that one,” Rogers agreed.

“What’s the most shocking thing about the century?” Stark asked, followed by, “Barnes, you’re being awfully quiet.”

“Leave him alone,” Romanova snapped.

“Whoa, yes ma’am,” Stark immediately backtracked. 

Just as surprised, Bucky looked to his teammate. She shrugged a shoulder, implying it wasn’t a big deal. He frowned, because it was, and she just smiled back at him. Telegraphing every movement, she reached out and squeezed his shoulder before motioning into the hall. A silent, ‘Get moving.’

“Social media,” Rogers finally answered Stark’s question. “The way everyone can come together in a movement like they do, keep in touch, broadcast important information in a crisis, it’s _incredible_. It’s dangerous, especially with how quickly false information can be sent, but the potential… I can’t wait to see where the world goes with it.”

“What’s social media?” Bucky found himself asking, playing up the ninety-year-old card. 

“Jesus,” Stark swore, “they really kept you in a black hole, huh?”

“Denying prisoners information is another way to control them,” Rogers stated.

“Look what you did, Barnes,” Romanova chided, a laugh in her voice, “It’s not nice to play games with the gullible.”

A curl of warmth had unfurled in Bucky’s chest to know that Rogers understood what they’d done to him. At the same time, it made him irrationally angry. Who the hell was Rogers to make him feel anything?

“Here I thought you agreed with them locking me away after all those mass murders, Captain” Bucky drawled, nursing that rage. It was better that way.

“That would make me a hypocrite,” Rogers said evenly, “since I think I’d have done the same in your place.”

“Steve!” Stark gasped like the drama-queen he was. Bucky…didn’t let himself feel anything. It was likely a lie anyway. Rogers was every inch a company man.

“The only way to deal with Hydra is to burn them to the ground,” Rogers said to Stark, his voice suddenly hard as iron. “They’re like cockroaches, scurrying in the dark. Barnes burned them all out, took their hiding places.”

“But -”

“I read his files, Tony. There’s no proof anyone died in those incidents that didn’t deserve it. That’s why there was never a trial, never a judge or jury. They just hid him away like a dirty secret because he _was_.”

“Is,” Romanova corrected, right at Bucky’s elbow. He had stopped moving again and hadn’t noticed. God, it was so fucking hot in here.

“Is,” Rogers amended agreeably, “For now.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My god, look at the art made by cobaltmoony inspired by this story. Just look at it!

Steve popped the lock on the door to the first floor and kicked the door open. The mission had lasted an hour and a half, leaving them plenty of time to finish and evac. It had been, however, more than enough time for everyone to be jumpy and twitchy, staring at the shadows in the NVGs like they might start moving. 

Nodding to Tony, Steve slid into the first floor’s lobby and he followed right behind. Every time they had done this, Tony had moved more smoothly with him into the hall, scanning their surroundings for anything that moved. Not necessarily hostile, just anything alive at this point. There was nothing. 

The huge lobby spanned before them, like some modern skyscraper where the owner was trying to impress with how wealthy they were. Odd, for a black site building, when one thought about it. Marble floors, wood paneled walls; the paintings adorning them were probably beautiful when seen in actual light. It was both a blessing and a curse that this place didn’t have any damned windows. How did anyone work here?

“Clear,” Steve called to the others. 

Sergeant Barnes and Nat filed out of the stairwell and took a look around. 

“We stick together on this one,” Steve informed them. “Four point formation. Sergeant, you take point on this one. Tony, left, Natasha, right, I’ll take rear. Clear each room counter clockwise and will continue down to the first sublevel. Copy?”

“Copy,” three voices confirmed. Steve ignored the way one pair of grey eyes seemed to stick to his back.

“Lead the way, Sergeant.”

The Sergeant passed him on silent feet. It had surprised Steve to find that the Sergeant moved with the same grace as Natasha, the same stealth she had taught Steve. Seeing them work side-by-side made the similarities in their training glaringly obvious. There was a calm, routine way they assessed people, places, kept track of them, classified as threat and evaluated the best ways to neutralize them. Detached, almost clinical; more habit, than anything.

In his passing, a dull, prickling sensation started low in Steve’s belly. _Compatibility_ , the assurance that, if given the chance, they would be happy together. They could find love. Steve could count on one hand the number of people he had ever been compatible with: Peggy, Tony, and Sergeant James Barnes. The fact the Sergeant had taken his suppressants actually wasn’t helping at all. Even now, in the middle of the mission, when Barnes passed him and he’d caught a whiff of his scent, Steve’s body all but jerked in interest. The way it had when he’d first met Tony, and god, that had taken days to get used to. 

Steve shook his head, trying to clear his nose of the scent. They didn’t have days.

Once Barnes was in front, his posture changed. He pushed his shoulders back, lowered his head, angling his left arm to face forward from his chest. Using it, Steve realized, the same way Steve used his shield. Sergeant Barnes was an experienced soldier and it showed. Putting him on point would be a good chance for Steve to evaluate him in a more combat-oriented environment. Not in a training facility, not during a test where there were a thousand other factors that could affect his attitude and performance. For all the empathy Steve had for Sergeant Barnes, it was a real possibility that he would one day become their enemy. Steve had a chance to learn how he fought, how he thought, acquire a feel for the man, the soldier, the survivor. It would give his team an unparalleled advantage that he simply couldn’t pass up.

Frankly, Steve didn’t want it to be true. Sergeant Barnes was a POW, first abused by Hydra, then his own government. A man failed by Steve himself, and men he had respected. He deserved far better than the hand he had been dealt. Yet, as much as Steve wanted to give the Sergeant a chance to redeem himself, Steve knew that redemption was not on his priority list. 

There was so much anger in Bucky Barnes. A cold and burning rage that turned his grey eyes to polished steel, hard and unyielding. Steve knew that anger had that allowed the Sergeant to survive his darkest times, given him strength to survive torture and the twisting of his self. It was such an integral piece of him Steve almost couldn't imagine him without it. 

Shaking himself from his speculation, Steve chanced a glance at the Sergeant. He walked at even pace with a predatory grace that brought violence to mind. Every second he was scanning his surroundings with a careful and practiced air. Undoubtedly, he was used to being on point. 

Steve wanted to take more time, asses the way he moved, how he reacted to stimuli, but he couldn’t give the man that much attention when he had to watch their rear. The goggles limited peripheral vision, forced him to turn his head more than he was used to, and robbed him of the ability to see more than a few dozen feet away. If he didn’t focus on his task, they would be easy to sneak up on. 

“New game!” Tony announced. “Let’s play truth, or truth. Who’s up for it?”

Not answering, Steve blew out a breath. Everyone handled the stress of not knowing where your enemy was differently. Tony handled it by chattering away, something Steve remembered Dum Dum and Dernier being culpable of what felt like a lifetime ago. Likely, the gut twisting silence wasn’t helping him keep hold of his tongue. Not that Steve could say he was faring any better. It had been ages since he’d been in a situation similar to this, and then at least he’d known what he was fighting against. 

Squinting into the dark and green behind them, Steve could make out a waterfall, a large desk and…a chandelier? Who the hell designed this place? Who were they trying to impress? The World Security Council?

“I will take Nazis and trench warfare over this any day of the week,” Steve said before he thought twice about what was coming out of his mouth.

To his surprise, Sergeant Barnes let out a bark of laughter.

“Trenches? I would choose a thousandth mutated rats over going back to the trenches. How long did you fight in the trenches anyway?”

Rolling his neck, Steve had to admit, “I didn’t spend a lot of time in the trenches, to be honest. A few weeks? When Ga-” Steve snapped his teeth shut so fast he bit his tongue. Sucking it for a moment, he finished with, “When I didn’t double-check the coordinates, we got lost on our way home and ended up holing up in some.”

“Did you just take credit for someone else fucking up?” Sergeant Barnes demanded.

Gritting his teeth, Steve made himself say, “Gabe. He was our...navigator.” It came out sharper than he wanted. “Don’t like saying their names, ‘specially when they weren’t at their best.”

“I’m sure they wouldn’t mind,” Tony offered, surprisingly understanding.

Steve huffed switching his hold on his gun to free his hand to rub at his face, cursing the goggles.

“Gabe was a god damned perfectionist; he’d mind. Had to do everything right the first time.” Steve knew they probably didn’t care, but he couldn’t stop talking. “I think it was ‘cause he was the only kid in his neighborhood to go to college, that and the race thing, and he was a musician so -”

“Race thing?” Natasha interjected.

Sucking on his tongue again, Steve didn’t answer. Last time he’d talked about Gabe’s race, Clint had yelled at him and he’d ended up with a twenty minute lecture from Bruce about how language had changed. He appreciated the Civil Rights movement, it was one of the best things to happen in the last century, but he still got confused about what he could and could not say these days.

“Gabe was Black,” Tony supplied when Steve didn’t answer.

The Sergeant stopped suddenly and turned to Steve, pivoting on his heel. He lowered his rifle, but the movement was so sharp it felt threatening. It took all Steve’s willpower not to turn around and treat it that way.

“Gabe Jones?” the words were barked sharply, the first evidence he had once been the Sergeant his files said he was.

Steve had to turn then, eyeing the Sergeant. Then again, he shouldn’t have been all that surprised. Before Azzano, they had served in the same regiment. The same unit his father had in the First World War, the one whose capture had changed Steve’s life forever.

“Yes, after Azzano, he volunteered to join my unit.”

“Who else?” Barnes barked again, voice tight and sharp.

“What?”

“Who else from Azzano survived?” the Soldier demanded.

“My entire unit were volunteers from there,” Steve answered. “Dum-Dum Dugan, Jim Morita, and Gabe from the 107th. That’s what you want to know?” Hesitantly he offered, the names easily slipping off his tongue. “Dum-Dum and Gabe are still alive, you know. Made it through the whole war and a lot after, according to their files.”

Sergeant Barnes stood stock still. There was nothing on his face, but his stillness screamed.

“They were my men,” he said quietly, “I… I didn’t know they’d survived. We were… They were next in line.” The man took his flesh hand off the gun and rubbed at his face, briefly pushing his NVGs up and scrubbing at his eyes before pulling them down again.

“I got them out,” Steve said, no longer hesitating. “They could have gone home, if they’d wanted, but they...they were the best; they wanted to keep fighting.”

A rough laugh left the Sergeant.

“Stupid fucks, figures they would do something like that.” 

Turning sharply away, Sergeant Barnes raised his rifle and started to move. Whatever barriers he’d lowered in the moment of shock hearing his men had survived Azzano, were being raised now, not letting Steve or anybody else see more of him.

Though it was stupid, though the moment had passed, Steve couldn’t help but stay put. What was best for his men had always come before anything else.

“They’d want to know you were… That you survived. Can I tell them?”

“Tell them what?” Barnes’s voice started dropping registers rapidly, and that was always a bad sign with him. “That the guy who took their place on that experimentation table didn’t die a painful, quick death, but was tortured out of his mind while they were safe and sound? That when they went back to their families, I was so stripped of basic humanity and self-awareness, I would do anything the Alpha I was currently bonded to wanted? That when they got old and happy…”

“Sergeant!” Steve barked. “That’s enough!”

“How would it make them feel, eh? I’m dead and buried to them. Leave it like that.”

Steve snorted, eyes narrowed at the man’s back.

“They would want to know. That you survived, no matter how you did it.”

Barnes stopped again and turned to look at Steve, but not fully, just over his shoulder.

“Did I?” there was a vicious little curl at the corner of the Sergeant’s lips and his voice was very low, almost gravely now.

There was no doubt in Steve’s mind when he answered, “Yes, Sergeant Barnes, you did.”

For a moment the Sergeant just looked at Steve though his NVGs and Steve hated that he couldn’t see his eyes, his face, couldn't read anything off him at that moment.

“The man they knew died on that table,” Barnes said finally.

“If that was true,” Steve said carefully, “you never would have cared they survived, too. Let me tell them.”

“Steve,” Natasha broke in, “you haven’t talked to them since -”

“For this, I would,” Steve interrupted. “I’m not asking you to see them, Sergeant. Hell, I couldn’t do that and I wouldn’t ask what I’m not capable of. Just let them… It doesn’t make sense, I thought the same thing, but they would want to know.”

“Leave it,” Barnes snapped, moving out once again.

“They were my men, too, Sergeant,” Steve snapped back, holding his ground. “Please.”

“Why the hell are we even having this conversation?” Sergeant Barnes snarled back, stopping and half-turning again, “You’ll do what you please anyway.”

“No,” Steve said with as much conviction as he could place into such a small word. “Not if you don’t want me to.”

Barnes huffed, loudly.

“You value my opinion that much, then respect my wish to leave it the hell alone!”

“That’s enough,” Natasha exclaimed as Steve opened his mouth again. “This is really not the place for this.”

Swallowing hard, Steve closed his eyes and took a breath. It felt like failing, like failing his men, not getting Sergeant Barnes to agree. However, Natasha was right. It wasn’t the place, and it was all too likely he had lost his opening. Maybe, on the return trip he could try again. 

Opening, his eyes, he nodded and turned around so they could start moving. A glance behind himself, saw Barnes was walking fast now, his shoulders a hardened line of anger he wasn’t bothering to hide. His gait shifted as well, rolling, more like a prowl than the previous purposeful strides. To Steve’s eye he looked like _wanted_ to find something, anything, that he could rip apart with his bare hands.

Focusing on his job, Steve turned back around, took two steps, and nearly fell flat on his face.

“Jesus Christ!” he cursed loud enough his voice echoed back to him from the empty halls.

Instantly he heard the three behind him turn, weapons up and ready to obliterate whatever had startled Steve so badly. 

“What?” Tony practically squeaked.

“Steve?” Natasha prompted.

“Give me a fucking second,” Steve grumbled. “Nearly broke my fuckin’ neck. Nice job clearing the goddamn ground for me, Ser…”

Steve scowled, crouching down because that couldn’t be what he thought it was. A single high heel lay on its side, half crushed from where Steve had stepped on it. A quick glance around proved it was the only one in sight.

“What?” Sergeant Barnes snapped, coming closer.

“Heel,” Steve said blankly.

Sergeant Barnes immediately straightened up, his short temper flaring sharply. “First you keep distracting me with chatter, and now you call me a heel just because you tripped over your own fucking feet?”

Steve pulled his NVGs off, wiped his arm over his eyes. He was getting such a fucking migraine. He didn’t _get_ migraines, just like he didn’t get asthma attacks any more.

“Tony, light please,” he said, his voice strained from the effort of not responding as he’d wanted. 

There was a moment's pause as Natasha and Sergeant Barnes likely pulled off their NVGs. Steve didn’t open his eyes again until the light from Tony’s suit bloomed, brighter and brighter, and he thought he might adjust without pain. When he did, he didn’t look down at the shoe like the others, he looked around at the rest of the lobby. 

Sure enough, the shapes he’d thought to make out on the granite tile floor resolved into more discarded clothing. A black loafer lay a few feet away beside a white stripped shirt that had been torn around the collar and shoulders. The other loafer was on the other side of the lobby. Steve didn’t see another heeled shoe, pale nude leather with a pointed toe, anywhere in sight.

Looking back at his team, Steve couldn’t help but smirk when he saw the Sergeant staring at the shoe Steve had tripped over, his eyes almost comically round.

“Uh,” he said uncertainly. “That’s a…shoe.”

“Yes,” Steve confirmed viciously. “A heel, to be specific.”

“Um,” the Sergeant stared some more, looking baffled and maybe a little adorable too. As much as an unmitigated asshole could look adorable that is. “I, uh, might have jumped to conclusions there.”

“You? Never,” Steve said dryly.

“Okay,” Tony said slowly, “this is officially creepy as fuck. 

“Sorry,” Barnes said as if somebody was ripping his lungs out tiny piece by tiny piece. It sounded incredibly painful.

“For not clearing the ground? That’s all right, happens to everyone once in awhile.”

“It won’t happen again,” Sergeant Barnes said in a dark voice that sounded like two stones grinding.

Steve sighed. He’d been doing a damn good job of distracting Barnes, so he was as much at fault as anyone. Still, it proved that Barnes was as fallible and human as the rest of them. Closing his eyes again, he took a slow breath to calm himself and immediately caught a whiff of Barnes’s scent. Sergeant Barnes. Not Barnes. He needed to remember to think of him only as Sergeant Barnes because once he started thinking of him in more familiar terms, it would be just slippery slope to other, much more familiar ways to think of him. And that? Wouldn’t lead anywhere good.

“I imagine it won’t. Natasha,” he rubbed at his eyes again, “tell me you’ve been somewhere where people just started stripping out of their clothes and leaving them places without any reason.”

“Sorry, Steve,” Natasha said honestly. “That only happens in porn.”

“Sergeant?” 

Steve knew he sounded like he was pleading, but he was.

“Stripping? Yes. Without a reason? Never. There is always a reason,” Barnes said cryptically.

“And I’m sure they had a reason now, too,” Steve agreed despondently. 

Natasha had been kneeling, looking at the shoe and then the surrounding floor.

“The thing is, I don’t think this person was taken off deliberately,” she said, getting up slowly.

“Uh?” Tony made a questioning sound, “Come again?”

“Stripping usually requires some kind of plan,” Natasha explained. “You start with your outer clothes and go on to the underclothes. There’s usually a progression involved.”

“There’s no other shoe,” Steve confirmed her hypothesis, rubbing at his scalp, hoping it would alleviate his headache.

Natasha hummed in agreement.

“Maybe the woman just lost it?” Tony speculated. “While running from, I don’t know, hellhounds?”

Cracking his neck, Steve motioned to the shirt and loafers.

“Then explain that,” he demanded.

“Okay,” Tony said instead, “What’s got your nuts in a twist? Grumpy is Captain Hook’s thing.”

“Nothing,” Steve lied, “I’m fine. The clothes, Tony. If someone ran out of their shoes, what explains the shirt?”

Tony stared at him, as did Natasha, neither clearly believing the lie. Gritting his teeth, Steve didn’t give in and confess. It wouldn’t help anyone right now, just make them worry more. 

“Let’s spread out within our line of sight and search for more…clothes, or something that would explain them,” Barnes offered, shifting his position to take everybody’s focus from Steve and onto himself. Tony turned too, taking the light with him so it no longer shone right into Steve’s eyes. Immediately, the headache lessened. And it was nothing, just an effect from wearing those damned goggles for hours.

Nat took the left side of the lobby, staying close enough they didn’t lose sight of her, but far away to see what they might have missed. With the distance, and Tony facing the opposite direction, she’d put her goggles back on. Barnes and Tony had, surprisingly, fallen into a natural search pattern. Tony stayed in the center, offering as much light to the others as possible, while Barnes took the left, scanning the floor with visible focus. Steve was left where he’d nearly fallen, basically guarding the shoes. 

He…had no idea how to feel about the fact that he was just _managed_. Like a four-year-old with a temper tantrum. Because he had been acting like a four-year-old throwing a goddamned temper tantrum. He tried to rationalize it; he wasn’t letting himself feel it, but even having a headache was frightening. The serum should have prevented anything like it, had for years now. Then there was the stress of the mission, which was more nerve-wracking than any he’d had since waking from the ice, even though - or because absolutely nothing happened yet. 

Being sent in after two separate Special Forces teams, Steve had expected secured ground. Instead, they’ve basically done their work all over again. He understood why, knew it was necessary and important, but it felt so futile. Every empty room, every odd, unexplained occurrence felt like they were getting further from their goal.

Sixteen hours. They still had sixteen hours.

Slowly, the pounding faded to a mere annoyance, and Steve looked up to see how the others were proceeding. They had covered quite the distance with Barnes in charge. He wasn’t talking, or letting himself be distracted. Steve had the impression he would keep going until he dropped. Even angry as he could be, Barnes was professional about his work. Utterly professional, truly capable of getting by without trusting his teammates, so long as they were the same. Logically Steve knew it was possible, but he couldn’t help but think it was a miserable kind of existence.

On the other hand, the Sergeant didn’t strike him as a very happy person.

In the end, they came up with three more shoes - a single brown loafer, a red high heel, and a black boot like a soldier’s, or security guard’s. They also found two jackets and a blouse. No tears in the fabric, no scuff marks on the floor or the walls, no signs of a struggle at all. Natasha, Tony and Barnes called these facts out to the room at large as they discovered them.

None of it made sense. It looked as if people had literally removed an item of their clothing at random and left it on the floor. There was no rhyme or reason to it, no logic that he could follow. Only the first shirt Steve had seen was damaged, though the blouse was missing several buttons.

“You know,” Tony said unhappily, as he and Barnes reached the far side of the room. “The fact we haven’t found any people was one thing, but this? This is us blasting past suspicious, bypassing creepy, and edging into fucking terrifying. Just so everyone is clear.”

Steve snorted and all three heads whipped in his direction.

“Duly noted, Tony, thank you. And Sergeant?”

Barnes didn’t say anything, just turned to face him.

“Thank you,” Steve said sincerely. “Are you finished there?”

“I think we’ve learned all we’re going to, Captain,” Barnes confirmed.

 _Sergeant_ Barnes. Christ.

“Let’s get moving again, then, and...continue the call out if you find more clothing. Maybe we’ll find a pattern.”

They returned to formation and Tony dropped the light. Steve and Sergeant Barnes put on their NVGs again and they started moving. 

Instead of the hundred cramped offices they’d encountered on the previous floors, this one was separated into large rooms. There was the lobby they had just cleared, but also a cafeteria, several conference rooms, and storage rooms that looked like they could contain several very large trucks. 

These rooms were filled with supplies, ranging from random office equipment, to dozens of different machines, to furniture. Nothing sensitive, nothing even vaguely resembling laboratory equipment, just lots of what Steve would have thought was junk. Even Tony would have to admit some of it was, like the line of twenty copiers, even old to Steve’s eyes, nothing like the sleek monstrosities upstairs. They were no longer gleaming white but yellowed, age and use leaving scrapes and dents in the once-pristine plastic. Steve doubted they were even broken, had just been replaced by newer, better tech. 

When Steve had first woken in this weird century, he’d hated the way everyone was throwing out perfectly good technology just because a shinier model came along. It was only after Tony sat him down and showed how the new appliances were cost efficient and eco-friendly that he realised that there was some merit to the practice. Hip-deep in old desks and copy machines, making their way between shelves full of printer paper and folders, Steve wondered how eco-friendly it really was. How many fully-working printers and copiers, phones, and computers had been thrown into landfills over the years? Seemed like a waste, no matter how you looked at it.

Sound carried oddly in the huge storage rooms, making it hard to distinguish even each other's’ location. One moment Steve was aware of Tony on his left, the next all sound would become muffled as they passed packed pallets of paper. It was disorienting, but nothing was out of the ordinary. Supplies, old and discarded, room, by room, by room, like a strange, office Fun House. 

Steve hated it, but the second they moved on, it was worse. In the hall before the first conference room - long rooms, with rows of chairs facing a podium and a projector screen - Sergeant Barnes called out about a jacket. A rustle of cloth suggested he had kicked it aside and, when Steve passed, it lay against the wall. Some dark fabric, perfectly cut and expensive; something Pepper would wear if she didn’t look better in lighter shades.

Barnes kicked open the door to the first conference room and they clambered inside. On point, Barnes rushed straight in, muzzle sweeping in a small arch that followed his line of sight. Immediately behind him came Natasha, then Tony, stepping in back to back and clearing the door to the left and right. 

“Clear!”

“Clear!”

“Clear!”

The confirmation of another room without hostiles was a relief, but ramped the tension thicker in every room. They swept inside, Steve crouched and carefully scanning the door behind them. Barnes led the way, their little four-point star moving as one to clear each row of chairs, down the front, leading to the door on the opposite side of the room exactly like the one they’d entered. 

“Shoe,” Barnes called, followed by a _thump, thump, thump_. He must have kicked the offending object aside. 

“Skirt over here,” Tony confirmed.

“Another shoe,” said Natasha. “Make it a pair.”

Steve didn’t see anything until they were well past. The shoe Barnes had kicked aside was patent leather from the shine that reflected off it into Steve’s NVGs. Someone had spent several hundred dollars on that shoe, then walked right out of it. The skirt Tony found was pale, white or cream, pooled on the floor like in a skin flick, lace rippling out in small waves. Natasha’s find was the oddest: one dark… Nikes? Skechers? Steve couldn’t keep up with the sheer number of logos these days. It was a sneaker, sole up on a chair, laces dangling in the air off the sides. The mate was two seats away, beneath that chair, on its side.

Their four-pronged procession glided from the conference room back into the hallway. Barnes kicked in the next door and they started the process over again. Clear. Sweep. Clothing. Clear. Sweep. Clear. Sweep. Clothing. Move on.

Steve raised his hand to rub his eyes, the headache back and threatening to split his skull, but his fingers only met the hard plastic of his goggles. With a sigh, he lowered his hand again. Just another ten more floors. No big deal. He’d cleared bombed-out ruins of Nazis. He could clear one building.

The conference rooms were warmer than the storage rooms, and Steve could feel himself starting to sweat. And he wasn’t the only one. Even though he couldn’t see it, he could smell the Sergeant more than before; a wave of sweat and hormones. Even with the suppressants, Barnes smelled on the edge of his heat. When Steve had read the Winter Soldier's S.H.I.E.L.D. file, there had been quite a bit of speculation into the nature of the changes made to Barnes’ biochemistry. Speculation aside, Steve knew he smelled divine. A summer’s heat, promises made between sheets, a forbidden dance, all flowing into his nose because apparently Steve wasn’t the only one sweating now. A quick glance at Natasha revealed tiny hairs stuck to her temple above the line of her NVGs. They were all hot.

As he was turning back, a glint of something caught his eye. 

“Stop,” he said and felt, more than saw the team obey. 

Turning his head side to side, he focused on the very corner of the room. Left, right, and there it was again, a glint, or sparkle, or shine that shouldn’t have been there. Glancing back to be sure everyone was aware of him moving, he walked over and knelt. Twisted and gleaming, trapped in the loops of carpet, was a wedding band. A man’s, judging by the width of the band. It was mangled and broken. Not just twisted, but ripped from the inside out, as if someone had gripped one side and yanked until the metal gave and split. The metal, not the person’s finger. There was no blood in sight, and Steve didn’t smell any, either.

“What did you find?” Natasha prompted, but didn’t come any closer.

“A wedding ring,” Steve answered carefully, getting to his feet and breathing through the pain, as his head pounded in protest while his blood pressure adjusted. 

“Here,” he said, walking back and showing her the mangled evidence. Natasha picked it out of his palm so gently he didn’t even feel the brush of her fingers. Then she raised the ring high enough that everybody could see.

“There’s no blood on it.” Steve tried to explain why a twisted band had so caught his attention. 

Natasha and Tony exchanged a look - impressive, since no one could see Tony’s face - and she set it on a desk. Barnes said nothing, just rolled his shoulders. The headache pounded on, and Steve felt oddly judged, defensive. Yes, all right, a lot of things could twist metal like that. Hell, Steve could twist metal like that with his bare hands. It just…

It wasn’t normal.

“Let’s move out,” Steve said when the silence went on too long.

It was a pleasure to watch how quickly and efficiently his team moved. In moments, they were back in formation, out of the room, and moving down the last hallway. Barnes was leading, his posture focused but loose, his shoulders rolling with his steps, very nearly strutting. As if he was challenging whatever lurked in this base to come and fight him. Steve couldn’t remember ever seeing anybody so relaxed yet so threatening at the same time. He watched the easy roll of Barnes’ shoulders, the way his back moved so fluidly as if he was missing half the bones a human being should have, the way his ass flexed with every step. Steve couldn’t help but think that James Barnes was the most intriguing person he had ever met.

Barnes lead them to the cafeteria. The double doors swung open, revealing the large, tidy space with a row of vending machines against one wall and dozens of small tables scattered about the linoleum tiled floor. Large ferns and ficus trees sat between the tables, offering the illusion of privacy in the large space. Against the other wall, a line of refrigerated shelving that should have been packed with food offerings for the complex workers to purchase, stood white and gleaming, not a plastic or paper package in sight. 

They filed silently through the tables, guns following their line of sight perfectly. They cleared the main room within moments and Barnes signalled Nat to follow him into the kitchen. They moved like a pair of ghost, footsteps light as a cats, even though each of them was carrying packs of heavy equipment.

In just a few moments the comms lit up with the calls for “Clear!” from both of them.

Steve let out a breath. The floor was as empty as the last, weird clothing and shoes not withstanding. Glancing at his team, he again took in the gleam of refracted light from the NVGs and frowned. Once they went underground, their chances for rest would be limited. They should take a moment and rest while they had a relatively defensible position. Eat something and hydrate before they entered the sublevel floors, especially if the lower levels were going to be as grueling as the ground-level ones.

“All right people,” Steve called, unclipping his ear piece. “Take a thirty minute break. Eat something, get some water. Once we reach the subfloors we won’t get another chance.”

Fifteen hours left.

Barnes shot him a look, like he couldn’t believe they were stopping now, but Tony visibly relaxed even from inside the suit. Without a word, Natasha swung her rifle off her shoulders and stretched, arms and shoulders popping audibly. 

“Tony, give us some light,” Steve called, already reaching for his goggles. He was going to enjoy having the goggles off for a little while. 

“Let there be light!” Tony called, his chestplate already starting to emit the familiar glow.

“Isn’t that what you said last time?” Steve teased, covering his eyes so the brilliance wouldn’t spike his migraine.

When he looked again, Barnes had somehow tangled his hair tie with his goggles when he had pulled them off, his hair now falling all about his face. His expression twisted in a grimace as he untangled the two, and Steve found himself staring with no little fascination. The metal fingers worked so carefully at such a delicate task, too much force easily capable of snapping the tie or the goggles. 

“Right,” Nat said, turning to the cafeteria door, “I’m going to use the little girl’s room while I can.”

Barnes smirked in triumph as he extricated his hair tie, hooking the goggles over his utility belt and reaching up to quickly redo his ponytail.

“Time to eat,” Barnes declared. 

Slinging his rifle back, Barnes made a beeline for the line of vending machines on the right. He curled his metal hand around the edge of the door and pulled, making the metal screech horribly and the glass shatter as he wrenched the door open. Without a pause, he reached into the machine and started pulling out candy bars. He didn’t bother doing it one by one, he just grabbed fistfuls and loaded them into his arms.

Steve watched with helpless fascination as the Sergeant carried his loot to the nearest table. Dumping it on the plastic surface, he turned to head back to the vending machines and paused. His head turned to look over his shoulder, eyeing a dark corner of the cafeteria, eyes flickering back and forth. Searching for something. Just as Steve was gearing up to ask what was going on, he shook his head and continued on his way.

After breaking another open, Barnes pulled out a large Coke and returned to his chosen table. Putting the bottle down, he pulled the chair, flipped it around, and straddled it so his arms leaned over the backrest, his rifle slung over his back in the same motion. Steve wondered if he realized he was smiling, a tiny little thing, as he reached for the first candy bar. It was a Milky Way. Barnes ripped the foil packaging apart using his teeth, then proceeded to devour it in only two bites, then opened the Coke to take a healthy swing.

Then he grabbed next candy bar and repeated the process. In the space of maybe five minutes he ate seven of the bars and was looking at the pile on the table as if he was seriously considering eating them all in one go.

“I have to say, that…is kind of gross,” Tony said from Steve’s side.

“It’s kind of adorable,” Steve admitted, immediately wincing, “and I hate myself for saying that out loud. Jesus, there’s something wrong with me today.”

Tony laughed, patting him on the shoulder.

“Maybe you’re just hungry, too.”

“You’re the one that’s going to be starving by the time we’re done here.”

Shrugging, Tony fumbled with a side pocket on Steve’s pack, ripping the velcro open. Sticking his gauntleted hand inside, he removed and passed over two of the protein bars specially formulated for Steve’s metabolism. Smiling, Steve took the offering, ripping open a bar and biting into the thick, flavorless whatever-the-hell it was made of.

“Forgetting to eat and drink isn’t exactly new. I’ll be fine, Cap.”

Steve gave a noncommittal, “Mm.” Pepper had different theories on what constituted, ‘fine’; Tony and his eating habits didn’t make the list. Steve completely agreed with her. It was likely to come in handy this once, though. They were about five hours from mission complete.

Turning back to observe Barnes’ adorable eating habits, Steve cursed and took an involuntary step backward to find the guy standing right next to him. That he’d obviously startled Steve made his lips curl in amusement. Even Tony snorted, the traitor. He’d been able to see Barnes approach; he could have said something.

“Make some damn noise when you walk, jeeze,” Steve grumbled.

Barnes only continued smirking as he held up a candy bar.

“Thought I’d share.”

Steve blinked rapidly, glancing at the Sergeant and back down at the candy bar. The metal fingers gripped it delicately, not doing any damage. When Tony had grabbed the protein bars, his gauntlets had left indentations of his fingers in the soft substance. Barnes’ metal fingers, on the other hand, mimicked the natural flex of flesh fingers with astounding accuracy. The more Steve looked at the arm, the more he was starting to realise that it wasn’t just a weapon. 

Tentatively he took the offering, a Snickers, and met the Sergeant’s gaze.

“Um, thanks. Really.” 

Barnes nodded seriously. Little strands of his hair, shorter than the rest, had escaped the ponytail and were flying every which way, some sticking to his temple and forehead. It should have looked stupid. Instead, it made him look like a wild creature, untamed and free.

“It’ll make you an accessory to theft,” he said with such a bland tone Steve couldn’t tell if it was a joke or not.

Groaning, deciding to take it as a joke, Steve peered at the candy bar.

“My momma would be so disappointed,” he declared, then ripped it open and took a bite. Even with his gaze lowered, Steve could feel those grey eyes watching him bite into the chocolate that was so, so much better than the protein bar. How the hell was he supposed to pass that up?

“Candy? Really?” Tony muttered. “What next? Pigtail pulling?”

“Shut up,” Steve mumbled, “You have any idea how gross those protein bars are?”

“That’s why I stole all the candy,” Barnes said, still feigning complete seriousness. 

The Sergeant was closer than he’d been since the server room and now Steve was incapable of not noticing. It was his scent, the dark promise of wicked things that curled through Steve’s stomach, along his spine, and demanded he move closer, touch, lick - He jerked his thoughts from that path for what felt like the hundredth time. It was starting to be familiar, the helpless desire for the man who didn’t want him at all. 

“Not to mention stole all the food you got get your hands on upstairs,” Steve teased. “Surprised you needed to raid the vending machine at all.”

Barnes’ smirk changed to something sly that made Steve’s heart race just that little bit faster. 

“I’m always hungry,” Barnes said, the purr of his voice suggesting another possible meaning that Steve was not going to think about. He wasn’t. He wasn’t staring, either, as Barnes pulled out another candy bar from his pocket, tore the wrapping off, and ate it in two bites. Because he was a professional and could control himself, damn it. “Can’t say you regret my light fingers now.”

Biting into the protein bar, Steve chased it with a bite of Snickers. 

“Can’t say that, no,” Steve confirmed. 

“Ugh,” Tony groaned, “You two are impossible. And gross. Just...get a room or something.”

Steve immediately knew it was a poor choice of words. Barnes was a charming man, easy and friendly, as long as nothing even vaguely sexual was mentioned. Tony’s thoughtless comment was like a bucket of water washing off the thin veneer of friendliness and waking up the anger with a vengeance. The change was nearly instantaneous. Turning from Steve, Barnes glared at Tony and took a menacing step forward. 

The easy, teasing atmosphere was gone. Tension laced the air and Steve had to step forward, his body angled between them, a hand on Barnes’ chest the other against Tony’s chestplate, holding them both apart. The last thing they needed was a physical confrontation. As much as he hated to admit it, Tony wasn’t likely to come out on top. Maybe outside, but here Barnes didn’t need to defeat Tony to kill him. A single crack in the suit would do the trick.

“He doesn’t mean anything,” Steve defended, pushing at both men and feeling both resist under his palms. “Tony’s just like that; mouth runs away from him.”

Barnes’ grey gaze shifted to Steve, no longer quite so angry. It assessed him, then ran down to the hand Steve still pressed to Barnes’ chest. The muscles rippled beneath his palm, hard and powerful even through the layers. Steve’s heart jumped, his breath catching, and he quickly pulled his hand away. Clenching it into a fist, he then stretched the fingers out, trying to get rid of the phantom feeling of the Sergeant’s pectorals flexing under his palm.

Slowly, Barnes’ eyes returned to Steve’s, but he didn’t back away. Didn’t put distance between them. His face was blank, eyes guarded. Steve had no hope of anticipating his reaction, but the total shutdown couldn't be good.

“Sorry,” Steve mumbled, feeling helpless to back away himself. Where had his control gone? Barnes wasn’t even in heat any more, yet it was harder than ever to keep himself from staring, keep his hands to himself, keep his eyes averted, and Jesus, the guy was going to kill him. “Honest. Dunno what’s the matter with me.”

The grey eyes narrowed, but Tony spoke up before Barnes could comment.

“You’re running a fever, that’s what.”

That broke whatever was tying Steve’s eyes to Barnes’ and he finally looked away, to Tony. Steve frowned at him, sure he hadn’t heard right. 

“What?” 

“JARVIS says you’re running hot, very hot actually. Got a fever of 103. As a matter of fact,” Tony looked to Barnes. “You’re running hot, too. 104.”

Steve stared at him blankly.

Fever.

It’s been so long since he had a fever...

“That explains the migraine,” he said without thinking.

“Migraine?” Tony repeated, his voice going higher. “Steve, are you sure you guys can’t get sick? ‘Cause the evidence right now says you can. You both can.”

Steve huffed, crossing his arms. Fever was a good sign. It was when the body stopped fighting that would be trouble.

“I appreciate the concern, Tony, I’m sure Sergeant Barnes does as well -”

The Sergeant snorted.

“- but if we’re already sick, it doesn’t matter. We finish the mission and rely on our serums to beat whatever it is we have.”

“The fact we have a fever doesn’t mean much with the serum,” Barnes added. “You know that, right? My body does strange shit for no apparent reason anyway.”

Steve turned to eye the Sergeant. Frankly, that didn’t sound good at all. Tony refocused on Barnes as well, and Steve braced himself for another fight. At least he was still between the two Omegas.

“Which one of us has a PhD here? Oh, me, all eight of them. Nothing happens for no reason.” 

Steve knew better than to ignore anything Tony claimed to be true. Unfortunately for the size of his ego, he was usually the smartest guy in the room. That ego made sure Barnes wouldn’t listen after a speech like that. It seemed that his favorite way of expressing his freedom was by exercising his right to refuse anything and everything. 

“Which one of us lived with this body for seventy years?” Barnes countered immediately, shifting his weight forwards, his shoulders back. Unconsciously projecting threat and dominance. It was strange seeing the postures Steve was more accustomed to seeing in Alpas being so organically and smoothly incorporated by an Omega.

“In a heat, without the ability to reason, or perform tests,” Tony snapped right back. “After working with Steve for only three years, I can tell you his body doesn’t react without a reason. If he has a fever, it’s because his body is fighting something off. If you wanna pretend your body is oh-so-different, be my guest. You’re still wrong and forgive me for being worried about it.”

“One, I have had more tests performed on me than any living being,” Barnes snapped sharply, turning his body sideways, so that his metal shoulder was towards Tony. “Two, I know what my body can and cannot stand to the last detail. How it operates at every point of starvation, sickness, exsanguination, in extreme cold, and extreme heat. Whatever you could imagine. If I say the fever doesn’t matter, it doesn’t.” 

“That’s not how the human body works!” Tony said aggressively, his body angling forward in his eagerness to prove himself right. “If there’s a fever, it’s a reaction to something; an infection. Just because you’re both capable of working through it doesn’t make it nothing, and why in god’s name did anyone need to know all that? That’s a perversion, it’s disgusting - Steve,” Steve kept himself from tensing by a hair's breadth, “they perverted science. You were right, they all deserved to die, because scientists are supposed to make things better. Let me at least have JARVIS monitor you. If you get worse…”

“No,” Steve said gently, “Have some faith, Tony. We’ll be all right.”

The Sergeant was panting, his breathing harsher than usual, but he remained silent. Steve couldn’t say if it was a good or bad reaction, but if he had to pick, it was good. It at least made Barnes stop arguing. Tony certainly wasn’t ever going to be the one to shut up first.

“Fine,” Tony huffed, “At least tell me when you started feeling the symptoms. Maybe it can tell us something about the disease.”

Steve had to think about it for a moment as it hadn’t happened all at once. The migraine had been harsh enough he’d known exactly when it started, but symptoms before that? He couldn’t be sure. 

“Uh, the headache started when we got to the lobby,” Steve said when he was sure he couldn’t pinpoint an earlier time.

Barnes scowled.

“The server room.”

Steve’s head snapped to him, his mind spinning because why would Barnes have gotten sick before him?

“You cut yourself,” Steve blurted, his hand lifting without his permission and turning Barnes’ chin where the scratch was already faded to nothing. “When I was examining the mutant rat thing. I smelled your blood.”

“The buckle on the goggles,” Barnes admitted, looking pensive and kind of resigned to the interrogation. His skin burned under Steve’s fingers.

Tony groaned.

“Great, so it’s definitely airborne. I mean, if Barnes caught it because of a cut and Steve caught it for no particular reason. JARVIS, run a diagnostic on all the seals.”

Reluctantly, Steve dropped his hand from where he was touching Barnes and looked to Tony. With the suit in place, he couldn’t touch the Omega, but he clapped a hand to his shoulder anyways. Tony immediately went still, focusing on him.

“Tony, it’s okay. Your tech is fine. Stop worrying so much, all right?” Steve licked his lips. “Or, if you need to, wait for us outside.”

Immediately, Tony groaned again.

“No, I’m not leaving you all. Even Barnes. I’m here, I’ll stick around to see the thing done.”

“How sweet,” Barnes muttered, but it lacked its normal edge.

“All right, so, if you experience more symptoms, I want you to tell me, all right?” The Iron Man faceplate swung from Steve, to Barnes. “All right?”

Barnes huffed, his eyes not expressing much, but he nodded. A single, sharp gesture that felt like a victory. Smiling, Steve nodded as well.

“Tony,” Steve said, “Why don’t you go check on Natasha? See what’s taking her so long?”

“Fine, fine,” Tony grumbled, but he turned away and headed towards the kitchen, “If you wanted to be alone, you just had to say so.”

Steve ignored that, pulling out his NVGs since Tony was taking the light with him.

“Warn her you’re coming, so you don’t blind her.”

Putting the glasses on as the light faded, Steve turned and was pleasantly surprised to find Barnes _still_ had not backed away.

“I know it’s not normal,” Steve said quietly, “and counter-intuitive, but that was Tony expressing concern. He wasn’t attacking you.”

“In my experience, people with degrees tend to use the term ‘science’ as a blanket excuse for doing whatever shit they feel like.”

“Tony’s not like that,” Steve said quietly, “Besides that, he literally cannot help how smart he is, everything he does is to help people. He wasn’t always like that, but then he had a really bad day, finally bonded with Pepper, and he tries every day to do what’s right. As Nat would say, wipe out the red in his ledger. There’s a lot of it.”

Steve watched the Sergeant’s body language carefully. After knowing him for five minutes, Steve had been able to see he expressed what he felt through body more than words. Barnes’ words were designed to provoke, to attack, to hide his true feelings and meaning under that provocative drawl and stinging words. It was hard to read him, but Steve had to try because Barnes slipped at times, letting more of himself shine though. Steve was watching for those slips now, waiting for them, because that was when he could reach the man the Winter Soldier had once been.

“He has the same kind of ‘I know best’ attitude that I had to deal with for decades. It really irks me.”

The Sergeant’s body was relaxing despite his words, his shoulders lowering from their challenging position, tension slowly draining from the muscles.

“Tell me about it,” Steve chuckled, “the absolute worst part is he’s usually right. When I tell you he’s the smartest guy in the room ninety-nine percent of the time, I’m not exaggerating. It is _really_ annoying that he knows it, too.” 

Barnes snorted, turning to face Steve more fully, his shoulders at an easy slope that made Steve’s own tension drain too.

“But he acts like a total idiot,” he protested.

“Coping mechanism,” Steve said with a shrug. “Though I think what you’re actually referring to is that he hadn’t a clue you were about to take his head off. He thought you were having a genuine, scientific, argument. He was treating you like an equal. If he thinks you’re stupid, or not worth his time, he doesn’t pay you any attention.”

“You do realise it’s gonna get him killed one day, suit or no?” the Sergeant titled his head to the side a little, radiating baffled inquisitiveness at him.

Steve’s smile vanished.

“Yeah, I know. Why do you think me and Nat pay him so much attention?”

“This is a really strange team you are running, Captain. Real fuckin’ strange,” Barnes said, shaking his head and stepping back a little, turning to cast a glance at the table full of snacks he’d abandoned earlier on.

Grinning again, Steve patted Barnes on the shoulder before picking up his protein bar again.

“And to think, you’re part of it now,” Steve shot back.

“What is it between you, Stark, and that Pepper, anyway?”

Steve paused, chewing slowly as he tried to understand the question.

“What do you mean?” he asked, once he realized he wasn’t going to guess the meaning to the words.

“He carries her scent but you scent mark him almost every five minutes. And he touches you a lot,” Barnes insisted, low and sure of himself.

“I do...what?” Steve said slowly. “No I don’t.” Swallowing hard, the protein cement in his throat, Steve looked after Tony worriedly. “Do I?”

“You touch Romanova a lot, too, but not as much. You did it on the plane, before he suited up. You even do it now that’s he’s in the suit.” Barnes watched him with unreadable eyes, not betraying anything but simple curiosity.

Steve set the food down, his stomach clenching with guilt and shame. At least Barnes wasn’t attacking him with this, but then again he didn’t need to. Steve knew how inappropriate it was to mark an Omega with his own scent, especially one bonded to another Alpha. Pepper had never said, though, and she would, wouldn’t she? Tony wasn’t his, had never been his. Neither was Natasha. They were his team, but that was it. He wouldn’t mark them as otherwise.

Barnes frowned at him, looking strangely confused.

“They both accommodate you. Hell, Stark even instigates the marking... Why is your heart trying to beat itself out of your chest all of a sudden?”

“Ah...I…” Steve swallowed hard and looked up at Barnes searchingly. “Are you sure? Why wouldn’t Pepper tell me?”

Barnes was frowning even harder.

“Why would she?”

“What?” Steve said, thrown by the question.

“Why would she mind if you’re scent marking Tony?” Barnes said patiently.

“Are you kidding?” Steve blinked, confused enough by the question to forget his shame, “I’d tear the head off any Alpha putting a mark on what was mine. She hasn’t said anything. Why wouldn’t she say anything?”

Barnes shrugged.

“You’re an Alpha. What’s it to her?”

“Oh,” Steve said, understanding at last. Dropping onto the cafeteria table, he rubbed his face with both hands, “She’s an Alpha, too. She’s… We’re hardwired _to mind_.”

Barnes was looking at him oddly now and Steve had to look away.

“So...you what, share Stark?”

“Tony Stark is not, and has never been, mine,” Steve told the floor, trying not to feel sick. It was so wrong, so utterly wrong and inappropriate and Steve couldn’t remember doing it. “Not… Not in the sense you’re referring to. He’s bonded to Pepper. I wouldn’t ever… I’d never dream… She’s good for him. Really, really good for him.”

Steve shrank in on himself, arms wrapping around his head as the ramifications hit him. Scent marking Tony was as good as offering Pepper a challenge. A not-so-subtle statement that Steve thought he was better off as Tony’s Alpha. That he wanted the man’s bond for himself.

“Oh my god, and they’ve been fighting lately. I’m a homewrecker. I’m a terrible person. Pepper doesn’t deserve this; why didn’t she tell me? Why didn’t he _stop_ me?”

“I...think I’m not getting something,” Barnes admitted, sounding even more confused.

The door to the cafeteria creaked open then, a strong beam of light heralding Tony’s return.

“Um,” Tony said, for once speechless once he took in the tableau Steve and Barnes must have made. Steve shaky and pale, hunched in on himself at the table he was sitting on, Barnes looming over him.

“The hell did you say to him?” Natasha demanded and Steve forced himself to sit up because this was really not Barens’ fault. Apparently it was his. All his. Jesus, why had he done that?

“Tony,” Steve said, knowing he sounded like he was pleading, but unable to help that, “tell me it’s not true. Tell me I haven’t been scent marking you.”

Tony didn’t answer, just stopped mid step and froze in place. It was as good an answer as any and Steve wrapped his arms around his head again, curling in on himself. He’d actually been doing it, and Tony had let him. They’d been throwing it in Pepper’s face for god only knew how long. And she had smiled at him last he saw her, wished them luck. Told him to take care of Tony and reminded him of their shopping date. And he’d...

“What brought this on all of a sudden?” Natasha said, her footsteps hurrying closer, before abruptly sliding to a stop. “You!” She snapped, taking a single sharp step forwards. “What could have possibly possessed you to tell him?” 

Barnes straightened immediately, abruptly shifting his stance, ready to fight at a moment’s notice.

“I wasn’t aware it was a secret,” Barnes said slowly.

“You see everything,” Natasha snapped, “You had to realize he wasn’t aware of it.”

Barnes took a step towards Nat, slow and deliberate, his boots hitting the concrete floor loudly.

“But you knew,” he said slowly, voice dropping and this was going to hell so quickly. “You claim to be his friend, yet you used his unconscious actions for your own benefit without telling him?” Oh, but the Soldier was vicious when cornered.

“Stop it,” Steve demanded, getting quickly to his feet. He almost reached for Barnes to push him back again, but he realized it in time and yanked his arm back to his side. God, he was pathetic.

“What _benefit_?” Natasha snapped, ignoring Steve entirely. “I liked being his family. We _all_ like being his family and we all knew he’d stop if we mentioned it, even though _we don’t want him to_. You know shit about us, Barnes. You’re constantly acting like we shouldn’t assume about you, but, fuck, how easy you think it was for me to find a family? You know who trained me. Now you’ve taken it.”

Steve swayed a bit, frowning as much at Natasha’s words as the emotion in them. Natasha was never emotional. Not ever. Now that he was looking at her closer, she was sweating, pale, and he had never seen her look so angry before. 

“Don’t exaggerate,” Barnes snapped sharply. “Besides that’s not purely platonic marking, don’t try to shove that bullshit at me. Not between an unbonded Alpha, unbonded Omega, and a _bonded_ Omega.”

“You don’t know us!” Natasha shouted.

“I don’t need to when you are so public about it.” Barnes wasn’t giving an inch, unaffected or not realising how rare it was for Natasha to shout at all.

Steve’s knees went weak and he sagged back against the table.

“Oh god, that’s why Fury thought I’d mate you. He saw me marking you, so obviously and… Jesus, why didn’t anybody tell me? Why didn’t anybody stop me?”

Tony finally moved again, sliding forward with his palms extended, slow and careful as if Steve was some kind of frightened animal.

“For a while I thought you knew what you were doing,” he said carefully, for once completely serious, “It was odd, at first, but when you did it to Pepper and Thor, too -”

“I did…?” Steve stilled, his mind not quite catching up with that statement. Alphas did not, ever, mark each other. Thor and Pepper had allowed him to and that just… It didn’t make any sense. None of this made sense.

“- when you first moved into the tower. Bruce thinks it’s a reaction to you being thrown out of everything familiar, losing everyone. You made your own family from your team. Your…pack.”

“No,” Steve said sharply, “That’s. No.”

“Steve,” Natasha said plaintively, “we never minded. None of us minded, not even for a moment,” she insisted. “Most of us… Hell, all of us haven’t had anything you could call a stable, nuclear family. Bruce’s dad beat him. Tony -”

“Let’s not,” Tony interjected.

“- Thor’s father literally killed his brother. His brother has tried to kill him more times than I can count. Pepper has no other family, no one, and Clint grew up in the fucking circus, and don’t even get me started on his brother; he’s worse than Loki. Wanda has had no one since Pietro died and Ultron destroyed her entire city. Sam is the only well-rounded one of us, and even he doesn’t mind. 

“I have never known a family, never. I didn’t want one until… You gave us a home. No, it’s not…appropriate,” Natasha shoved sweat-damp curls out of her face, “It’s certainly considered taboo, but you’d never… Steve, you’d never use it against us. You didn’t even know you were doing it.”

“It’s wrong,” Steve said dully.

“It is not wrong to give us a home!” Natasha shouted once more, and Steve flinched. “You don’t control anyone. You don’t hurt anyone. You’re our leader, our center, that’s it. There’s nothing wrong with it. Nothing.”

“Natasha…” Steve said helplessly. He hated hurting her, hated the pain and begging in her tone. The thing was, she wasn’t right. It was wrong; pack’s were taboo for a reason. They blurred the lines between friend and lover and family. Abuse was rampant in them, nearly always at the Pack Alpha’s hands because they held so much sway over the others. Steve couldn’t let it continue. He had never meant it to begin. 

She was Natasha, so she could see the answer in his face. Whirling on Barnes, she glared and slashed a hand angrily across her face. God, she was crying.

“Fuck you, Barnes,” she hissed, turning on him again.

“Steve, come on,” Tony pressed, “Don’t take this from us. I know it’s not…normal, or… Who cares? We’re the Avengers. We’re not normal. And...and you know, you’ve been doing it for nearly three years. Think about it. If anyone minded, someone would have said something. You didn’t hurt anyone, you know you didn’t.”

“You want my opinion?” Barnes asked Steve, pointedly ignoring both Tony and Natasha.

“What?” Steve asked, thrown off by the matter-of-fact tone.

“My opinion, do you want to hear it?”

“You’ve done enough damage,” Natasha snarled, “Shut the fuck up already.”

“Yes,” Steve said despite Natasha’s shaken voice. 

For all that Barnes was a herald of bad news, he had at least told him, not tried to protect him from reality. Before the serum, Steve had hated when people did that, thought he was too fragile to know the truth. The thing was, sooner or later, the truth always came out, and by then it was a blow instead of a gentle tap.

“As long as you’re not going against anybody’s will, it’s nobody’s business who you mark.” Steve jerked his head up to stare at the last person he’d expected to hear reassurance from.

“What?” he asked, incredulous.

“But just to be clear, you try to mark me as one of your Omegas, and I will rip your throat out.”

“But...I don’t even know I’m doing it,” Steve protested, “Not to you,” he added quickly, before looking at Tony and Natasha. “How am I supposed to do anything I don’t realize?”

Barnes shook his head.

“You’ll notice now. You’re not completely oblivious, Captain. You already stopped yourself.” 

“You are taking it surprisingly…calmly,” Steve hazarded, for the first time realizing that the Sergeant wasn’t shocked or angry. Maybe confused, but nothing more. “Even back in our day, packs weren’t acceptable behavior.”

“Why shouldn’t I? You aren’t fucking them, and Alphas are all strange anyway.”

Natasha wiped again at her eyes and Steve frowned. If he was doing more harm by breaking up their pack, he wasn’t sure he should. He would have to check in with the others, but if none of them really minded… If they wanted to be a family, a very weird, very unorthodox family, who was Steve to take that away? Not when he had marveled at how they had managed to stay together at all.

Pushing to his feet, he started walking to Natasha while saying teasingly to Barnes, “So it’d be a problem if I was fucking them?”

The Sergeant smiled that crooked, challenging smirk that raised Steve’s blood pressure. 

“You wanna find out?” 

Barnes’ voice was even, but there was a dark promise in his eyes that Steve wouldn’t like if he continued teasing. The Sergeant was remarkably consistent, only allowing himself to make sexual innuendos. Anybody else got their head ripped off for trying. Steve rolled his yes, but he’d known that when he said it. The guy needed to loosen up eventually, but it would take baby steps to get there. For now, he dropped the verbal sparring.

When he reached Natasha, Steve wrapped an arm around her shoulders and tucked her against his side because that’s what he would have done before. It wasn’t quite as effortless, now, knowing he was leaving his scent on her, but the way she stilled said maybe it meant more this time because it was deliberate. Steve hoped so, because he still felt wrong doing it.

“You’re just sick,” Steve assured gently, knowing she’d be beating herself up for her outburst, for losing control. “You’ll be fine once it’s out of your system. We’re all acting a bit off.”

“I’m better than this,” she mumbled. 

Steve chuckled.

“Everyone has an off day. Hell, I snapped at everyone not an hour ago. Practically tried to pick a fight with a porcupine. Barnes is being _nice_.” 

When she smiled, Steve did as well, before giving her shoulders a squeeze.

“All right?”

Natasha’s gaze flicked to the hand on her shoulder.

“I am.”

Blushing, Steve stepped away. Tony was hovering, his posture emanating anxiety and nerves. Steve eyed him for a long moment. It was different with Tony, namely because they were compatible. The scent Steve left on him meant something a lot different than it did on Natasha. Tony knew that.

“You jeopardized your bond with Pepper,” Steve accused. “You allowed people to think you were cheating on her with me.”

“Hey, listen,” Tony said quickly, holding up a hand and stepping forward, “First off, you’re not putting all the blame for this one me. Second, you know I don’t give a damn what anyone but you and Pepper thinks. Third, I never jeopardized what I have with Pepper.” 

“Even I don’t understand how Pepper puts up with it, Tony,” Natasha said unhelpfully.

“Okay,” he instantly backtracked, “we never actually talked about it, but she never said anything, or tried to kill you, or got mad at me, so I kind of took that as she didn’t mind and you guys are best friends. I was just happy you weren’t at each other's throats. I wasn’t gonna question why the only two people who ever looked past my asshattery and thought I could make a difference get along and like each other.”

Steve sighed; he’d forgotten how insecure Tony could be.

“Tony,” Steve said gently, “Pepper and I aren’t the only ones who think you can make a difference.”

“You’re the only ones who see all my bullshit and still believe in me,” Tony snapped. “The only ones - Romanov, don’t you even start - and yeah, I know we’re compatible and it makes us twitchy around each other, but I know you’d never do anything to hurt what I have with Pepper. I thought you knew I wouldn’t either.”

“I do know that,” Steve assured, letting his feet take him to Tony and put his hand on his metal-plated shoulder, “but I also know you don’t always see what’s right in front of your face. I know you’ve been fighting lately. She’s feeling neglected.”

“She said that?” Tony demanded.

“No, but I can read between the lines. I planned on talking to you about it after the mission. You need to take your woman out, ignore your projects for a while and maybe do it while you don’t smell like me, huh?”

Steve wished he could see Tony’s face.

“Yeah, okay. You do know what the lady likes.”

“Yes, I do. I’ll email JARVIS the shoes you should buy her.”

“You and Pepper and shoes,” Tony grumbled. 

Chuckling, Steve clapped him on the shoulder and started back to where he’d left his lunch.

“Nat, get some food in you -”

“And water,” Tony interrupted.

“- and water,” Steve agreed. “Then we’ll get on our way. Unless anyone else has another stunning revelation they’d like to drop in my lap? Barnes? Now is the time.”

“I’m pregnant,” Barnes said immediately, looking him in the eye.

Steve choked on the bite of protein bar he’d managed to take.

“E-Excuse me?” Steve’s eyes immediately slid to the man’s belly.

“That’s not possible,” Tony huffed, “He was in heat when we met him ten hours ago.”

Barnes grinned then, showing all of his teeth.

“Joking,” he said, just as deadpan.

Steve shook his head slowly.

“And you called us the weird ones.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a plague week for cleo and xan. First Cleo got some kind of plague, then I caught a virus from hell, then Cleo got sick again so the updates are going to be happening very erratically until we both beat the damn plague.

When they reached the first sub floor, Steve changed the plan up again. Natasha understood; he wanted to get a better feel for how Barnes worked. That didn’t mean she was happy getting stuck with Stark. The billionaire was powerful, sure, but he was the furthest thing from a professional; working with Steve or Barnes was ten times easier. They anticipated her, moved with her. With Stark, it was like dancing with a twelve-year-old, all knobby knees and two left feet. No wonder Steve had taken him as a partner for the first floors, he wouldn’t have wanted Barnes to notice, and would have considered it burdening her unnecessarily.

Worse, even now he wouldn’t stop talking.

“All right, new game,” Tony chirped.

Natasha bit back a groan; it would only encourage him.

“Never have I. No, wait, that won’t work unless we can all see each other and have our hands free. Hmm… You know, this would be a lot easier if I’d been a little girl and gone to sleepovers.”

“Clear,” Barnes and Steve both said over the comms.

“What’s your obsession with sleepover games, Stark?” Barnes demanded.

“I hear it's how us girls will become the bestest of friends,” Tony answered casually, “Don’t you want to be BFFs, Barnes? We can share all the juicy gossip and braid each other’s hair.”

Steve and Barnes snorted in tandem.

“Nobody touches my hair,” Barnes growled under his breath. “Not if they want to live.”

Grinding her teeth, Natasha tried not to worry about how close the two were getting as she followed Tony into the next room. The subfloor was a honeycomb of laboratories, connected to each other through networks of hallways. A maze, just like Barnes had promised, and a claustrophobic one at that. The ceilings were lower down here, the walls and floor made of metal. Instead of regular doors, they passed through airlocks lifted from the floor so even she had to tuck to pass through. Each one had a security lock, which had given Barnes and Tony pause until Natasha had revealed Steve wasn’t actually the only one given clearance to bypass the complex’s security. Tony hadn’t been happy about that.

“Clear,” Natasha declared.

“Clear,” Tony confirmed before turning right back to his distraction, “Come on, you’ve been having fun. Learning all about each other. Tell me you don’t want to play another game.”

“I don’t want to play another game,” Natasha said immediately.

Steve laughed.

“What’s the game, Tony?”

“Traitor,” she muttered.

“It’s called Would You Rather. So, rules: everyone has to answer, no matter how stupid the question is. Here we go,” he dramatically cleared his throat, “Would you rather have a dragon, or be a dragon?”

“Oh my god, this is stupid,” Steve immediately complained. 

“Ah-ah,” Tony scolded, “You have to answer. I would rather have a dragon. If I was a dragon, I wouldn’t have thumbs.”

“Dragons could have thumbs,” Steve argued. “Have you ever met a dragon?”

“That’s a fair point,” Tony said easily. “Still, I would rather have a dragon.”

Natasha paused to listen at the bend of the wall before leaning out for a quick peek.

“I’d rather have a dragon,” Natasha said to get it over with. “I wouldn’t want to be very large, too easy to spot.”

The nook was clear and she moved on to the next one.

“Dragons don’t have to be large,” Steve immediately argued because apparently he was actually enjoying this, the bastard. “There could be small dragons, or maybe even invisible dragons.”

Natasha rolled her eyes and followed Tony into the next lab. It was packed with equipment, computers, vials, and chemicals. Much of it was made of glass and steel, all of it top of the line. Whatever they had been researching here, someone had spared no expense. On the bright side, there were fewer places to hide, and they were clearing rooms faster than ever.

“Clear,” they all said together.

“I’d still rather have a dragon,” Natasha said, “We’d make a formidable team, no matter the size. Like a pet tiger.”

“Now I know what I’m getting you for Christmas,” Tony joked.

She hoped he was joking.

“So, Steve?” Natasha pushed because this whole conversation was his fault. “Would you rather be, or have, a dragon?”

“Definitely be,” Steve answered immediately.

“Agreed,” Barnes chorused.

“All right,” Tony drawled, “Next up, would you rather have hair nowhere on your body, or be very hairy all over and be unable to shave?”

Natasha rolled her eyes, nudging the door to a cabinet open with her toe.

“Why am I unable to shave?” Barnes protested.

“Does this include hair on your head?” Steve queried.

The cabinet was empty, so Natasha moved to the shadowed space behind the large flow cytometry unit.

“You two read way too much into this,” Tony laughed. “You’re unable to shave because your hair breaks all the razors and yes, it includes the hair on your head.”

“Hairless,” Natasha sighed.

The space between the wall and the large machine was clear. She went on, checking another big machine and the deeper shadows behind it, trying not to trip on the cables snaking every which way on the floor.

“I’m with Nat,” Steve said reluctantly.

Tony huffed.

“Well, I’m going to make hairy the new sexy. You with me, Barnes?”

“I have no idea how one can get hotter than me, so I’m in.”

The smirk. Jesus, the smirk was a physical presence in Barnes’ words. Tony made a sound like an overheated kettle in his affront that anybody could be hotter, or just more arrogant than him. Natasha just shook her head. Surely Steve couldn’t be attracted to that?

“Yeah,” Steve said, immediately proving her wrong, and practically fell over himself trying to take it back, “I didn’t mean to say that out loud, I swear I didn’t. You’re attractive and all, but I’m sure someone’s hotter.” Something clattered on the other end of Barnes’ and Steve’s comms. “I mean, no one is sexier than you. Only, you’re very attractive, and it is something I have noticed and will do nothing about.”

Natasha stopped, one foot raised to nudge the closet door open when she heard Steve’s little speech. The man was usually such a erudite speaker, so hearing him putting his foot in his mouth was hilarious. She had to bite back a laugh, not wanting to embarrass him further.

There was a long pause and Steve muttered, “Jesus, someone mute me.”

Tony snickered and Natasha didn’t fight back her smirk. 

Then the howl wiped away everyone’s amusement. The sound tore through the lab, directionless and hollow. Strangely hoarse, unlike any Natasha had ever heard a dog or a wolf make. Shivers chased their way down Natasha’s spine and silence descended again. 

No one moved.

No one spoke.

Of course, Tony broke the hush first.

“Everyone heard that, right?”

“Yes, Tony,” Steve said grimly. “We heard it. Keep moving.”

Natasha purposely bumped into Tony’s shoulder, then took point. For once he didn’t argue, just followed along behind as she pressed her back to a wall and looked down the next corridor. For a second, she thought she saw a shadow flash at the end of the hall, but when she blinked there was nothing. She was tempted to dismiss it, but…

“I might have something,” Natasha said.

“Report,” Steve instantly answered.

“Might just be a shadow, or me being twitchy, but I thought I saw something.”

“Clear it,” Steve ordered, “Check in every minute. Tony, send me your location.”

“JARVIS is on it,” Tony assured. 

Nodding, Natasha drew her second sidearm and ducked into the hallway. Nothing moved, nothing shifted. Green walls, green floor, green ceiling - metal, she knew, but green nonetheless through the NVGs. Silently she slipped down the corridor, counting the seconds, eyes darting left and right as she hunted for whatever had moved. Behind her, she heard Tony’s heavier footsteps, reassuring in their familiarity. 

The corridor turned and Natasha darted about the side. Nothing. Not a sound. If something had been here, she would have heard it. There was no way it made the end of the corridor that stretched before her without making a noise. All the doors on both side of the corridors were closed; if there was any animal in the corridor it couldn’t have used any of them.

“Nothing, Cap,” Natasha reported in, even though her time wasn’t up. “Must have imagined it.”

“Copy,” Steve said, but she could hear the relief in his voice.

“Good,” Tony chirped, “back to my game, then?”

“Sure, Tony,” Steve said indulgently. 

Rolling her eyes, Natasha kept her position on point and headed to the first door on the right.

“Great! Would you rather be able to change the past, or see the future.”

“Change the past,” Steve, Natasha, and Barnes all said at once.

“Whoa, okay,” Tony said slowly. “Am I really the only one that wants to be able to see the future?”

“What do you want to change, Steve?” Natasha asked, ignoring Tony. She had expected the answers from him and Barnes, but she had thought Steve would want to see the future as well. Save as many people as possible, or something similar.

“I plead the Fifth,” Steve hedged.

Natasha paused just inches from the door, not wanting to enter the room when she was so focused on Steve’s answer.

“No,” Tony said quickly, “This is an honest, safe space, Daniel Faraday. What would you change?”

Steve sighed. The mic picked up a strange shu-shu-shu sound on the comms, before Barnes said, “Clear!” and Steve echoed him.

“I’d find another way to put the plane down so I didn’t end up frozen in it,” Steve finally confessed.

Tony gasped exaggeratedly at Natasha’s side.

“You’d ditch us?!” he demanded.

“No, apparently I’m not going to age. I’d be here, just…the journey would have been different.”

Natasha pushed open the door, knowing she wouldn’t get more out of Steve. There was more, though. More he wasn’t going to say in front of Barnes or Tony. Maybe about Peggy, or Hydra, or S.H.I.E.L.D. Maybe about America. Steve was funny, the way he got wrapped around things. She would ask, only later, when they were alone.

They swept the lab, silence having oddly fallen after Steve’s answer. It worried her a little, only because Tony was never, ever silent. He always had something to say, some need to fill the gaps of conversation. The group silence followed them to the next lab and the next, broken only by their confirmation that no hostiles had been encountered. 

Surprisingly, it was Steve that broke their communal hush.

“I wouldn’t ditch you, Tony.”

Natasha had to smile and side-step quickly as Tony moved deeper into the room, almost stepping on her foot in the small space. She resisted the urge to snap at him, but cast him a look clearly saying what would happen if he did that again. In the suit, she couldn't tell if he saw it or not.

“Of course not,” Tony said with false bravado as he cleared a floor to ceiling cabinet large enough to hold several bodies. “You couldn’t live without me.”

“Wouldn’t know what to do without you,” Steve said soberly, but Natasha could hear the amusement lacing his tone.

“What did you do with that plane you didn’t like so much?” Barnes asked, sounding confused.

Natasha fought the urge to bang her head against the nearest steel counter. Barnes was a menace. An oblivious, too-aggressive, so-brilliant-he-was-downright-stupid-at-times _menace_.

“I threw a Nazi into the controls, breaking the piloting so I couldn’t land it. Couldn’t let it keep flying, either, so I crashed it into what I thought was the ocean. Turned out to be an iceberg.”

Natasha announced the room clear, and when Tony confirmed her call, she turned back towards the door. So did Tony, and they nearly collided. Again.

This time, Natasha growled.

“That’s… Wow,” Barnes said, sounding oddly strained. “You fought a guy in the control room of an airborne plane. In the middle of an ocean.” From the small sounds Natasha could hear through the comm, she knew Barnes had stopped moving. “Wasn’t there _the rest of the plane to contend with_? Don’t tell me; you also used firearms inside.”

“Well, yeah. Not like I wanted the plane to keep flying… It was loaded with bombs.”

“Oh my god,” Tony groaned, marching out into the corridor like a rhino, taking some of the doorframe with him when he miscalculated and slammed into it with his shoulder. The suit won that encounter. Natasha just darted down the hall, putting distance between them. If he was going to be this distracted by the conversation, she wanted to be well out of arm’s reach.

“Tell me, Rogers, did you read a lot of comic books as a kid?” Barnes asked, tightly-controlled mirth lacing his voice.

The silence on the comms sounded sheepish.

“Suddenly, everything makes _so much sense_ ,” Barnes said quietly.

Natasha looked at the row of doors in front of them, deciding which to clear first. Four on the right and only two on the left, indicating that the rooms on the left were bigger. Objectively, the larger areas would hold more potential threats, as any hostiles would have more space to hide within. 

She headed for the first door on the left.

“Listen,” Steve jumped to his own defense, “It wasn’t like I didn’t get fired on first, or had back up. If I’d let them get into their flying bomb-chopper things, they would have blown up entire cities, so I shot a few, and maybe fell out of the plane a little, but it worked out fine. Except for that whole frozen part, anyway.”

“How does no one know this story?!” Tony demanded.

“You fell out of the plane?!” Natasha demanded, trying to fight down her irritation as they swept up to the first door. “How did you _fall_ out of a plane?”

“Okay, so I jumped. Look, the point is, I stopped the pilots from blowing up any cites, and then I took down the rest of the plane. By myself, I might add.”

“So was it jumped out _a little_ , or fell out _a little_?” Barnes wanted to know, and Natasha was grateful she wasn’t the one pushing this time.

The security lock took Natasha’s codes, turning green and uncoupling. Stepping aside as it swung open, she got her first look into the huge, dark space behind. It was filled with some kind of scientific machinery of a truly staggering size. Nearly six feet tall, and easily eight feet long, it was encased in clear plastic. Weirdly, there appeared to be machinery inside the machinery. 

“That’s the newest VANTAGE station!” Tony exclaimed, pushing into the room and forcing Natasha to jump aside or be bowled over by a ton of metal and hydraulics. “It’s the liquid handling...”

Natasha didn’t wait to hear more from him. Palming one of the knives, she flipped it in her hand, and rapped the metal handle on Tony’s helmet, hard.

“Ow! What was that for?” he yelped, rising up on his boot thrusters to get away from her reach.

“Jumped,” Steve was saying hesitantly, ignoring Tony’s antics. “It was that, or we were going to lose Chicago and New York. There wasn’t really another option.”

“Clear and sweep, Tony,” Natasha chided sternly. “Not gawk and geek out. Focus.”

“Okay, okay, but…that is some serious gene sequencing equipment. Like, _the_ equipment to be had.”

Natasha lifted her hand as if to hit him again and he flinched.

“Tell us about it _after_ we clear the room.”

“Did you have a parachute when you jumped out?” Barnes was ignoring them as well and had gotten strangely attached to that fact. To be completely honest so was Natasha, because seriously? Steve had a death wish a mile wide. He was the only one who seemed unable to see it.

Having taken her second warning seriously, Tony had swept along the left side of the VANTAGE station, while Natasha took the right. Another station was set up behind it and they swept that, too, before Natasha swept an arm graciously for Tony to continue his geek-out. While he did, she’d watch the door in case “her shadow” decided to show up again.

“Of course not,” Steve huffed, “There wasn’t time to put on a parachute, let alone go find one. It wasn’t like I even knew I’d be on a plane when we attacked that base.”

Freed to do as he pleased, Tony went to the small computer sitting atop a metal desk against one wall. From one of the hidden compartments in his suit, he pulled a USB cable and stuck it into the nearest corresponding slot. The computer screen lit up and Natasha frowned.

“Should that thing even have power?” Natasha asked, raising her gun again.

“Separate power source, separate memory and processing power for each unit. Those babies will hold data for months without an outside power supply.”

“Is that data in any way useful to us?”

“Well, I can’t tell you what they were doing, as I’m not a geneticist, but I _can_ tell you one thing.”

“What?” Natasha demanded when he paused for effect. She would not shoot him; that would be an overreaction. Maybe she should shoot him later.

“None of the DNA in that machine was human, animal, or plant. Gene sequences…don’t exist in those combinations.”

“Hang on,” Steve said, apparently having been listening to them with at least half-an-ear. “How’s that even possible?”

“Didn’t I just say I’m not a geneticist?” Tony demanded. “Fine, I’ll put it in terms you can understand. It’s not human, plant, or animal. The fuck only knows what it actually is. ”

“Are you done?” Natasha pressed. 

“I suppose, Ms. Impatient,” Tony huffed. “We can go back to discussing our esteemed leader’s strange fetish for jumping out of planes.”

Rolling her eyes, but pleased Tony had put them back on track, Natasha headed for the door and the corridor. There were still five more rooms here to clear and they were falling behind. It tugged at her pride to think either Barnes or Steve would think she wasn’t completely competent or incapable of performing just because she was saddled with Tony.

“You know,” Barnes said thoughtfully, picking up like Tony suggested, “A lot of people call me insane. Mad. Bonkers. Cracked. They obviously have never met you, because are you insane? Really? Pulling stunts like that is something I would expect from a young hot-shot soldier willing to prove himself no matter the cost, not a damned captain.”

Natasha could feel Steve bristle from the other side of the complex.

“What would you’ve had me do?” Steve demanded. “Lose Chicago? New York? Not fuckin’ happenin’. Not if I could stop it, and I did. Was it reckless? Sure, but it worked, and this is real rich, comin’ from you and the stunts you pulled in that trainin’ room.”

Moving to the right side of the corridor, Natasha opened the door and swept into a supply closet of some kind. Steve’s argument wasn’t new to her, but he was too stubborn to back down. That was the problem with getting him to see a problem with his actions; he was completely convinced he had done the right thing. Maybe he had, but that wasn’t the point, just the one he clung to.

“Clear,” she announced, taking a step back and slamming into Tony’s chest. Looking over and up at him, he shrugged and stepped back. Shaking her head, praying for patience, she moved toward the next door.

“Eh,” Barnes dismissed easily. “I’ve done lots of shows like that. The S.H.I.E.L.D. setup is almost mirror image of Hydra training rooms. You didn’t have the excuse of doing similar stunts dozens of times before, right?”

“No, because I’m not actually insane. I only did what I did at all because I _had_ to.”

“So, you never again jumped out of a plane without a parachute, yes?”

Natasha laughed out loud, leaving her hand on the door handle, as her laugh ended with a totally inelegant snort and hiccup.

“He’s got you there, Steve.”

“Who’s the traitor, now?” Steve demanded. “I only do that now after plenty of training and testing of my limits, thank you very much.” 

Tony snorted this time. Even he could see how Steve’s actions had strayed from mere recklessness. 

“And it’s fun, shut up. I like testing myself, so sue me.”

“Ah,” Barnes said darkly, as Natasha unlocked the next door and quickly cleared yet another supply closet. “You’re an adrenaline junkie. And you treat that as an excuse to do reckless, stupid things that might get you and your team killed.”

“No,” Steve said sharply. Natasha winced. That was not a button of Steve’s to press. “I would never put my team in danger.”

“Just yourself,” Barnes shot back, undeterred, “because you’re expendable. I thought none of us was expendable, Captain.”

“Shut up,” Steve grumbled, “I’m reckless, not stupid. I’m not gonna get myself killed.”

Now it was Barnes’ turn to snort.

“You jump out of planes without parachutes. Keep telling yourself that.”

“I can’t believe I’m with Grumpy Cat on this one,” Tony said, sounding as surprised as he claimed.

Natasha smiled. Steve was stubborn, but if enough voices said the same thing, he wouldn’t ignore them all. The last ally she expected to have was Barnes, but she’d take it. She was also going to figure out just why the hell he was acting like he was invested in Steve’s wellbeing. 

The next door led to a room filled with large, tightly closed, gleaming steel devices that looked a little like mutated washing machines. There was a plaque on the door saying: Sterilization room S1006.

“I am, too,” Natasha said, “Sorry, Steve. I’ve said it before; you’ve got a death wish.”

“Shut up,” Steve said belligerently. “We’re not having this argument again. I don’t have a death wish, I get out, I do things. I have friends.”

“You have no friends outside your team,” Natasha pressed. “Last time you made one was, what? A year ago?”

The room was fairly big, but the amount of equipment packed under every wall meant that there wasn’t any room to hide. The center of the room was simply bare tile. They cleared it in moments.

“Sam, yeah,” Steve sighed again. Natasha would have felt bad, if she wasn’t genuinely worried about him. “Not like you’re one to talk, Nat.”

“I am not the model of perfect mental health, Rogers,” Natasha shot back.

Barnes coughed.

“A sane Black Widow, ha. That would be the day.”

“Right?” Nat said, for once sharing the Soldier’s dark humor. They chuckled together for a moment.

“You’re not one to talk, either,” Steve snapped in her defense. “None of us can. I deal with my shit and maybe I push myself, but I don’t have a death wish.”

“I am the last one to tell anyone how to deal with their issues in rational ways,” Tony said breezily, “but we’re just worried about you, Capsicle.” After a moment, he added, “And that moment of understanding between our Spy Queen and Grumpy Cat? Downright creepy.”

Steve took a deep, audible, breath.

“Okay, what exactly am I supposed to do here to get you all to hear me when I say I’m fine?”

 

“You’re not fine, Steve,” Tony said, surprisingly gently, “None of us are ‘fine’.”

Steve groaned.

“Okay, I’m done with this conversation.”

Barnes chuckled. Briefly Natasha wondered how they could argue this much and still clear rooms as fast as they did, calling ‘Clear’ in between the insults and arguments. It was astonishing how well they worked together, considering they had only known each other a few hours. Most of that time had been spent fiercely disliking each other, too. Maybe it was Steve’s experience and Barnes’ unbending professionality, or just something unique to both of them.

“Wuss.”

“I might be insulted if I knew what that meant,” Steve shot back. “Maybe we can pass the time dissecting all _your_ various mental problems?”

Barnes chuckled again.

“Me and my various different hang-ups are on a first name basis, have a very healthy social life, and meet up at least once a week to discuss how we accept each other fully. So, yeah, we can.”

“Sounds like you’re exactly who I should be taking advice from then,” Steve said dryly.

Each room they passed was empty and free of hostiles, no sign of the so far-elusive second team. Each laboratory was dark and empty, not even a stray garment or shoe in sight. There were no signs of struggle, not a paper out of place. All equipment was turned off, save those that worked on their own power supply. 

“You gotta listen to someone, Steve,” Natasha pushed. She didn’t like pushing him at Barnes, didn’t like how close they were at all, but an ally was an ally. “And so far you seem to like Barnes’ no-bullshit attitude. Maybe, you should listen to him now too.”

“I had a perfectly valid reason to jump out of that plane!”

“Careful,” Natasha teased, “That excuse is wearing thinner by the jump.”

Steve groaned.

“Fine, Sergeant, what would you have done then? Two fighter planes are being dropped out of the belly of the plane you’re in. You’re no longer armed, you have no parachute. One fighter is labeled Chicago, so you have the reasonable assumption it’s heading to blow up that city. The other says New York. The Chicago fighter is already out of the ship. The New York fighter is undocking. How do _you_ stop both?”

Natasha huffed, her stomach roiling as she entered another sterilisation room, the pungent smell of chemicals causing the organ to spasm in complaint. The queasiness wasn’t getting any worse than it was before, thankfully, only acting up at strong smells. If she could avoid puking in front of Tony again, though, that would be fantastic. Having him walk in on her bent over a toilet was an experience, though he had been kind. Concerned, for Tony anyway.

“Talking to you about that is useless,” Barnes barked, “If you missed some fact in the heat of the battle simply because you didn’t look for it, you can't tell those facts now; you don't know them. For all we know, there might have been guns lying just beyond your line of sight, or in places you didn’t look. You will not force me to say your way was the best way because I already see you like to be the one in the right. And are self-sacrificing more than is healthy.”

Natasha could imagine she heard the click of Steve’s mouth shutting.

“Wow, Barnes,” Tony muttered, “You are a tough nut to crack. Even in the verbal sparring department.”

“Can we stop talking about me jumping out of planes?” Steve asked plaintively.

“Sure,” Barnes agreed way too easily, “you just make sure you remember that feeling you have now.”

Natasha reached the end of the corridor. It split into a T-shaped intersection. Biting back a curse, she paused. They had just come from one like it. To be sure they hadn’t missed anything, they would need to backtrack, check the corridor they had just come from, pray it didn’t end up in yet another T-shaped intersection, then backtrack from that one to check those two. If any of those ended in a split corridor she would need to backtrack again and again. This was obviously why Barnes had been talking about the complex with such disdain. It was a paranoid, hellish way to protect, and confusing as fuck. If it wasn’t for the fact that every member of the team had an enhanced memory, they would run a real risk of getting lost or forgetting to clear areas. 

“Huh?” Steve said eloquently. Natasha kind of liked that Barnes could do that to him.

“Not a good one, right?”

“Well, not a nice conversation, no.”

“Just imagine. Every time you jump out of a plane from now on, you can look forward to _hours_ of conversations like this.

Natasha had to silently applaud Barnes for how coldly efficient he was, ferreting out Steve’s buttons with simple teasing. Whatever got the most reaction was targeted with ruthless deliberation. He had purposely made Steve feel guilty just so he’d remember that feeling each time a similar topic came up. It was the basics of Pavlov's syndrome, creating associations between two events. Natasha had promised herself a long time ago that she wouldn't use those methods on her friends, on her family, but Barnes obviously had no such limits. 

“So, how's that adrenaline kick looking now?”

“Sounds like it might be worth it,” Steve said. “If you’re sticking around.”

Shit, Natasha thought.

“You forget you have a Widow on you team. She knows a lot about conditioning the mind. Soon, she’ll hardwire that uncomfortable sensation into your need to jump. She doesn't need me for that.”

Natasha winced internally, not pleased that Barnes had read her so well, knew her tricks. Steve, on the other hand, was amused. He chuckled and she could imagine his open expression, sincere and honest despite being under what the rest of them would consider an attack.

“She’s been trying. Why do you think she asked you to weigh in in the first place?”

“She wasn’t trying hard enough, obviously too hesitant to hit the real painful spots. I did it for her. All she needs now is make you remember this little convo. The rest will be your subconscious mind working.

“I honestly don’t see what the problem is,” Steve sighed, “You know I’m physically capable of it? You probably are, too.”

“It's the principle of the sexy bathtub.”

“The what?”

“Yeah, what?” Tony demanded.

Natasha was, admittedly, not following either, but she wasn’t about to say as much.

“Imagine a situation where you first have a bath, in a bathtub,” Barnes said. “Then have sex. This happens multiple times. Eventually, just looking at the bathtub will make you hot even though the bathtub itself isn’t sexual at all. It’s because your mind expects sex to happen. Thing is, sex doesn’t even have to happen in a bathtub. Your mind will just roll those two things into one. After a while, you can remove the sex from the equation, and the bathtub will still make you hard, because the connection became permanent.”

“Are you trying to say my jumping out of planes is...going to lead to me jumping off something that’s going to break me?”

“No, it means that if she plays it right, after a while, even looking at a plane will cause you to feel bad. You won't even know why. You’ll simply stop getting a kick out of the jump.”

Steve hesitated.

“Okay, first off, that kind of manipulation is not okay, Nat. Second… I have jumped off of more than just planes, not that I think I should admit that at this point, but my point is still that I’m fine. You’ve never jumped off something?”

Natasha made it down another empty corridor, this one without any doors, keeping silent. The lack of doors indicated that there was a large room behind the wall. It wasn’t important enough for her to ignore Steve, but Barnes had this situation under control better than she did. A fact she wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about. Natasha knew he didn’t actually care, but she still couldn’t see another angle for why he was pressing this hard.

“Oh, I did plenty of jumping, but it was always planned in advance. My missions were always pretty scripted beforehand, and I never liked jumping anyway. You do like it and that tells me it’s an illicit thrill for you.”

“It wasn’t planned in advance _once_ ,” Steve protested, but it sounded more like a whine.

“Once?” Natasha demanded, sensing Steve was cracking.

“I’m pretty sure,” Steve said earnestly. “Besides, most of our missions we can’t plan in advance.”

“That’s another excuse,” Barnes accused.

“How is it an excuse if it’s true?” Steve demanded.

“You use the gun rarely, right? You tend to use the shield more than the gun. That means you like to get in close and flirt with the possibility of getting hurt.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

Natasha swallowed a curse as she saw that the corridor she was walking ended in another intersection. At this point she was starting to think that simply blowing the place up was the best solution. The mission was turning out to be a nightmare of boredom and hundreds of identical corridors that kept turning in on each other.

“Your finesse with the Frisbee is greater than with the gun. Ergo, you train with the Frisbee, but not with the gun.”

Biting back a laugh at the comment, Natasha wished she could have seen Steve’s face at that moment when his beloved shield was called a Frisbee.

“Poker night with you must be a nightmare,” Tony chuckled.

“Not for me,” Barnes protested, “I tend to enjoy it very much.”

“I bet,” Tony said dryly.

“I keep up my marksmanship,” Steve argued, “but the shield takes most of my time, you’re right about that. I don’t have a death wish, and I’ve got no idea how to prove that.”

“You’re ignoring what you’re doing is dangerous and stupid just because it’s worked so far. At some point, it’s not going to go the way you plan and you’re going to die.”

Steve fell silent at that and Natasha knew he’d be frowning. There would be those two lines between his eyebrows that meant he was actually, thank god, thinking about what had been said. Natasha knew he didn’t realize just how reckless he was most days and part of her didn’t blame him for it. Being alone took a toll, but he wasn’t alone anymore. At some point, the behavior had to stop.

“Do you know how many times my momma called the priest to our house for Last Rights? Before I was twelve, it was eight times.”

“I don’t see what that’s got to do with your death wish,” Barnes said frankly.

“That’s what I’ve gathered,” Steve said, but there was nothing sarcastic in his tone, “I’ve been shaking Death’s hand since I was a child. By all rights, I should have died a total of ten times, and that was before I got the serum. I’m not afraid of dying, haven’t been since I was six years old. 

“On that Hydra plane, I knew I could die when I jumped on that fighter, and maybe it wasn’t the best damn plan available, but it was the best one I had and I wasn’t going to hesitate just because I might die. When I die, I die. If I held myself back because it’s a possibility, I’d never have left my damned bedroom. I sure as hell never wouldn’t have signed up for war and I wouldn’t be standing here today. I get that you all don’t see it that way; you see it as a death wish, but I don’t have one. Honest. I’m just…living. With everything I got.”

Natasha scowled. The answer was more comprehensive than any she had pulled from Steve before. Barnes had the ability to get him to talk more than anyone else. It was also filled with so much denial she wondered how they’d ever punch through. 

“First, not being afraid of death isn't the same thing as actively looking for it. You know it, too, and you’re fighting us so hard because you need us to agree with you to justify your stupidity. Second, you are a living, breathing, downright picture-perfect example of a workaholic who wouldn’t know fun if it bit him in the ass. Living with everything you got? Ha. When was the last time you had a lover? If I took your phone now, how many different calls, outside of work, would I find there? How does your calendar look? When was the last time you had vacation?” Barnes laughed. “Don’t try to out lie a liar, Rogers.”

“I have a lot to say to that,” Steve said, sounding more than a little surprised, “but mostly I just wanna know how you _know_ all that.”

There was a long silence on the comms, even Tony keeping quiet. Natasha bit her lip, sweeping the room and hoping Barnes could somehow keep up the momentum. Rooting for Barnes seemed like something she’d never do just an hour ago, but here they were.

“Before the War, I used to live with all I got. Every day was new and fresh and goddamned beautiful. There’s a certain kind of peace to being happy, it’s easy to spot. When I look at you I don’t see that peace at all.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever known peace,” Steve said honestly. 

Natasha let out a breath; it was the first thing he’d said that she agreed with.

“Steve has no chill,” Tony supplied.

“Sorry, Steve,” Natasha said, “But I’m with Barnes. You fear fun and time off.”

“I have fun,” Steve protested, but it was more of a grumble again, “though I haven’t a clue what I’d do with time off. I do actually enjoy working, you know.”

“Because it’s something you know,” Tony said evenly. “The same thing you did before your big freeze. A point of stability in world you no longer recognize. How many days did you have before the Battle of Manhattan, Cap? Two?” 

Steve let out a breath.

“Fourteen,” he answered quickly, as if the number had been painful. “Okay, okay, if I agree to take a vacation, will everyone give me a break for the rest of this mission?”

“At least one new hobby that you have to find and agree to continue all by yourself and you have a deal,” Natasha interjected, eager to have Steve give his word.

“Fine, Jesus Christ, vacation and a hobby. Is everyone happy now?”

“I’m so proud of you, Stevie,” Tony said, sniffling dramatically, “All grown up and dealing with your issues.”

“Shut up, Tony,” Steve sighed.

“Your word, Steve,” Natasha pressed, not letting him off the hook so fast.

“That’s low, Nat,” Steve said, his voice deeper. Natasha didn’t care if he was angry with her for insisting. Everyone knew he looked out for himself last.

“I’m waiting, Rogers, or were you being insincere?”

Steve sighed deeply, no longer even a little amused. Tony followed her into the next lab and she ducked under his outstretched arm. Everyone was silent, waiting. Even impatient, attention-seeking Barnes.

“Clear,” Steve declared, “You have my word, Nat. Vacation and a new hobby.”

“Thank fucking god,” Tony grumbled, “Now we can talk about something else. Barnes being nice is giving me the creeps.”

It was, but Natasha wasn’t going to say that aloud. Bringing attention to the fact that Barnes was seeming to care about Steve would only encourage the Alpha. Encouragement was generally the last thing Steve needed. In this case, that was more true than ever. Barnes was just going to hurt him, potentially permanently, the same way she kept hurting Steve without meaning to. It was just the way it was with people like them.

Thankfully, discouraging Barnes would be far easier than discouraging Steve.

“So, Rogers,” Natasha said, lacing her tone with amusement, “You trying to keep Barnes around? ‘Cause it sounds like it.”

There was no answer. No sound from the other end of the comms. Slowing her steps, she glanced back at Tony who shook his head. Her comms weren’t malfunctioning then.

“Steve?” Natasha hardened her voice. “Status.”

“You did see that, right?” Steve demanded.

“I saw it,” Barnes said grimly. “Contact. Single tango. Too fast to target. Lost it around a corner.”

“Was it -” Natasha began, but froze as a glow started up at the end of the corridor. Eyes, a single pair, gleaming green in the NVGs and staring straight at her. Without hesitation, she sighted down her gun and fired. The thing yelped and fled, darting away faster than even Natasha could keep up.

Behind her, repulsors powered up and she glanced back to see the Iron Man suit lifting off the ground.

“Tony, no!” Natasha barked.

To her relief, he settled back down and followed behind her as she swept down the corridor. The last thing she needed was him rushing off, leaving her alone, or getting himself lost. At the end of the hall, blood splattered the wall, but there was no corpse in sight.

“Tony,” Natasha said quietly, “Take point. Follow this; let’s see what we find.”

“Status,” Steve ordered as Tony stomped past.

“We encountered a hellhound,” Natasha said, pointing her gun in the direction the blood droplets indicated. “I wounded it. We’re on the trail.”

She and Tony moved at a fast clip, following the small splatters that grew further apart with every step. They passed two intersections, turned left, then right, before she realised there were no new blood droplets to follow. Tony had stopped in the middle of yet another T-shaped corridor, scanning left, then right, then left again.

“Well, shit,” Natasha commented out loud.

“Report,” Steve prompted.

“Tony?” she queried.

“Sensors can’t pick up a trail,” he confirmed, sounding as frustrated as she felt. “Looks like you only grazed it.”

“Sorry, Cap,” Natasha sighed. “We are definitely not alone, though.”

“Well, we knew that,” Steve said. “Everyone be on their guard. Tony, no more games.”

“Fine, fine,” Tony grumbled, sweeping a hand forward for Natasha to take point again, “Captain Killjoy.”

“How many rooms do you have left to clear?” Steve asked.

“Fifteen,” Tony responded.

“The Sergeant and I have ten. We’ll hurry and meet up with you,” Steve said, his breathing already picking up as he increased his speed. She didn’t hear Barnes’ response but as she didn’t hear Steve calling for him either, he must have obeyed the instructions with his usual efficiency.

“Be careful, I don’t like how fast those things are,” Natasha warned as she pushed another door open.

“Me neither,” Steve admitted.

After that they kept the chatter to a minimum.

The room was clear, just a print station, if the amount of different sized copiers stuffed into the small space was any indication. It was the last room on the corridor they were checking. 

“Clear!” she called and Tony echoed her.

They were slightly behind Steve, who was calling rapid fire, “Clear!” She and Tony couldn’t match that speed simply because Tony lacked proper military training. The small difference in awareness, of intrinsically knowing his partner’s position, resulted in him sometimes tripping Natasha up, or more commonly, just getting in her way. There was no chance he could anticipate her moves correctly.

Five rooms later, all empty of anything alive or interesting, Steve broke the silence.

“On our way to you.”

“Copy,” Natasha replied, motioning to Tony to keep working.

Four rooms later, she heard Steve’s and Barnes’ footsteps growing closer, carrying loudly in the corridor as they made no attempt to be quiet as they ran. Their footsteps were in synch though, their feet falling at the same time, and it was odd enough Natasha took notice of that, especially as Barnes did everything he could to be as contrary as possible while still following orders.

“Our fearless leader arrives,” Tony said with forced cheer.

Steve was in the lead as he rounded the corner, running flat out, the heavy pack on his back not even slowing him down. His shield was raised to defend against any unexpected attacks. Natasha couldn’t even see Barnes at first, just the muzzle of his rifle peeking over Steve’s shoulder above the shield. It made her uneasy, the perfect teamwork, how easily and instinctively Barnes had adapted to Steve’s peculiar way of fighting. As aggressive and downright dominating as Barnes was, he didn’t try to force his way to the front. He used Steve’s bulk and his shield to hide most of himself. It was very strange that Barnes hadn’t fought him on it, rather worked around Steve’s peculiarities. Steve was in his element, charging in at the front, taking on all possible threats onto himself. 

They both stopped as they saw Natasha and Tony. Neither of them was breathing hard, even after running across the whole base. 

“We saw nothing on our way here,” Steve informed them, stepping aside. “Sergeant, take point. I’ll take rear guard again. Let’s finish this floor; this is taking way too long as it is.”

Natasha stepped to the left, letting Barnes pass her on his way to the front. As he went by, she could smell his scent even though he had taken the emergency suppressant. His hormone levels were still unnaturally high, just on the cusp of his heat. She was always sensitive to another Omega’s heat, biology forcing her awareness of potential competition. Unlike for an Alpha, though, the scent of a potential heat of another Omega was unpleasant and irritating. Not at all alluring or intriguing. 

“Move out,” Steve ordered once they were all in position. 

With four people, the last rooms went faster as Tony was forced into a limited role that curbed his flailing. There was almost a machine-like efficiency to Barnes’ as he checked the rooms, his movements measured, fast and tireless. It brought the best out in her and Steve, taking them back to their roots as soldiers.

They cleared the last room, headed back towards the staircases in relative silence.

By Natasha’s estimate, they were halfway to the stairs when the Sergeant stopped suddenly, raising his hand in a fist - the universal sign for stop, be quiet. His body was suddenly tense, shoulders higher than usual as he turned his head slowly from left to right. Listening to something, Natasha realized. Though she strained her ears to hear anything, there was nothing. Behind her, Steve shifted and she felt his gaze land on her, but she had nothing to give him and shook her head to indicate as much.

Steve shifted again, turning to Tony. The Iron Man suit shrugged, arms spreading out in a sign of confusion. If Steve had heard something himself, he wouldn’t have looked to them either.

Ahead of them, Barnes was still listening intently, his entire body radiating focus and attention. It wasn’t the first time either, but she hadn’t thought anything of it before. Every time he had tilted his head in that way, he had been listening, but she had never heard anything suspicious. Like now.

Tony shifted, glancing from Natasha to Steve and back to Barnes, but held his tongue. The seconds ticked by, silent, waiting, but still Barnes held his fist in the air. Not moving except his head, listening to…nothing.

“Sergeant?” Steve finally prompted quietly.

Barnes straightened from the strange sideways position he had adopted.

“I was trying to make out the words,” he said matter-of-factly.

“What words?” Steve asked, too calmly, too gently. Natasha chanced a glance back and his entire focus was on the Sergeant, not watching their rear at all. As if the danger was in front of them. Natasha froze, then tightened her hand on her weapon. 

The Soldier shifted to look at Steve from over his shoulder, expression confused, his short ponytail arching in the air with the movement.

“The voices,” he said, sounding as confused as he looked. “I know they’re far away, I was hoping I could make out words, but it’s just a murmur,” he pushed the stray strands of hair from his face before grumbling, “It’s irritating as fuck, by the way.”

Steve glanced at Natasha again and she shook her head more decisively. There were no voices, no sounds at all that the team themselves wasn’t making. Eyeing Barnes, trying to ascertain what was setting Steve on edge, she could see the faint sheen of sweat on his skin, the way he looked just a little flushed. Nothing different than five minutes ago.

Taking a step sideways, setting herself out of Barnes’ line of sight, she mouthed, ‘Fever?’ to Steve. The flicker in his eyes was the only sign he had seen. Good, he was getting better at that.

“I think they might be carried by the air ducts somewhere in the building,” the Soldier continued blithely, unaware of their reaction as he turned to scan the space in front of them again.

“I don’t hear anything,” Steve said carefully.

Barnes turned around, looking first at Steve, then at Natasha, his goggles hiding his expression.

“Strange, I pegged your hearing as roughly the at the same level as mine, if not better.”

Natasha was surprised that Barnes would admit so easily to Steve having any kind of advantage over him. Usually he was devoted to making himself appear to be the biggest threat in the room. Then again, he hadn’t been considering Steve wasn’t hearing things either.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Natasha added out loud, but it didn't seem to faze Barnes any. He clearly didn’t consider her senses a competition. That was fine, she preferred to be underestimated.

“My sensors don’t pick up anything either,” Tony interjected. 

There was a double beep in her ear that let Natasha know Tony had switched channels to exclude Barnes. It was something Tony had suggested when they were preparing for the mission, since they couldn’t hear Tony outside the suit anyway. Steve hadn’t liked it, but he had understood it might be necessary.

“JARVIS says his fever is getting higher,” Tony said privately. “Maybe he’s having auditory hallucinations.” 

Barnes shrugged and again, the incredibly fluid movement of the metal arm looked strangely organic. From the corner of her eye Natasha saw Steve staring at Barnes’s shoulders, mesmerised. She turned to Steve fully, eyebrows raised and stared Steve down. He noticed after a few seconds and flinched, his body language indicating embarrassment at being caught ogling the Omega. The way his scent shifted, became sharper, indicated that Steve was slowly edging closer to rut. It was a heady, alluring scent. 

One, she realised, she had never smelled on Steve before.

“Technology is easy to fool, and rarely as sensitive or reliable as their inventors like to think,” Barnes said almost absently, shifting to walk forwards again.

“Sergeant,” Steve said, his voice still coached in those odd gentle tones, and Barnes stopped again. “How certain are you of what you’re hearing? Could it just be the fever making you hear something that’s not there?”

Barnes turned to look at them, his body tensing before relaxing, betraying nothing.

“I’m sure of what I’m hearing,” he said slowly, bitterness flavoring his tone. He didn’t expect them to believe him. And how could he? They were asking a person with suspected auditory hallucinations if he had hallucinations.

Steve shifted and Natasha wanted to punch something when his jaw tightened. He was unreasonably defensive of the Omega. Up till now, Natasha was certain Steve was above favoriting people he was attracted to. She had never seen any indication of him treating Omegas, women, or Tony, any differently from the rest of the population. Maybe they had never really met an Omega Steve was truly attracted to yet. Until Barnes, that is.

“It’s voices?” Steve clarified. “Murmuring? From where?”

“Rogers,” Natasha protested, “You think there’s a better chance he’s hearing something we can’t?”

Steve rolled his shoulders, not indicating agreement or disagreement.

“If his level of enhancement is anywhere close to mine, the fever would have to be critical to cause hallucinations. I doubt there would be auditory hallucinations without other symptoms as well.”

“I can’t tell where they’re coming from,” Barnes answered. “It’s like… listening through a vent while a fan is blowing.”

“Whispering?” Steve asked.

Barnes slowly shook his head. 

“More like…vents, like I said. A few floors away? Like something else is muting them.”

Natasha relaxed as Steve’s hands twitched.

“Not whispering, not quiet, but we can’t hear them. My hearing is enhanced, Sergeant. I find it…odd I can’t hear it.”

Barnes’ mouth tightened.

“It’s your choice if you believe me or not. Nothing I can do about it anyway.”

Letting out a breath, Steve nodded.

“And what would you do, if you were me? Voices could be a threat, or hostages, or victims. Or...” he trailed off, not stating again that it could just be that Barnes was losing it.

Reaching up, Barnes pulled his hair from its confines and started putting it back up again. Everyone watched, silent, waiting for him to answer. Not for the first time, Natasha was glad Steve was the one who had to deal with him. 

“You want guarantees? Clear cut answers?” Barnes growled, “Look around you. At this place. Nothing’s going to be clear cut in here.”

“No,” Steve said sternly. “I want to know what you’d do.”

“What have I done till now?” Barnes snarled, the ever-present anger coming back to life. Natasha didn’t realise how buried that anger had been until it sparked anew.

Steve stepped closer, pushing between Tony and Natasha. Barnes turned, tension lacing his body as he took the movement as a threat. Thankfully Steve stopped, the shield loose in his hand, the gun pointed at the floor. Putting himself between them and Barnes, but not bracing for an attack. Whatever was on Steve’s face now, she couldn’t see it.

Natasha watched the closed-off body language and knew, that whatever else Barnes heard or noticed, he wouldn’t be sharing anytime soon.

“You have followed orders, Sergeant,” Steve said, before his voice dipped with amusement, “Though that’s not what I asked you. Fine,” his voice hardened, his Captain’s voice, “then I need you to tell me if it changes. If the voices get closer, or if you notice anything else. I’ll keep my options open.” 

“Yes, sir,” Barnes said. 

Natasha couldn’t read the man’s voice well enough to guess his intentions. She couldn’t see that his focus and his body language were too controlled to betray much of anything. There was something in the way he’d said those words that reminded her of the moment they met the Soldier for the first time.

Steve nodded, glancing back at Natasha and Tony. He nodded once.

“Then move out. We have nine more floors to clear.”

Turning on his heel, Barnes swept back into position without giving anyone more than the chance to nod. Natasha and Tony passed Steve, who took up his position in the back. A rare thought slipped through Natasha’s mind. She hoped Steve knew what he was doing.


	9. Chapter 9

It shouldn’t bother Bucky that Rogers doesn’t believe him about the voices. Why should he believe Bucky over Romanova? If their positions were reversed, he’d make the same call. Mostly. He wouldn’t have left his ‘options open’, he would have told Bucky to screw his head back on right and put him in the rear. That’s why Steve had asked what he’d do, boxing him into a corner, because that’s what the tactical-minded fucking cheater did. 

Bucky swiped his arm over his forehead, wiping away sweat. He’d thought of Rogers as _Steve_. Maybe the fever was getting to him. Making him care when he shouldn’t. Not hallucinate, no Bucky was certain he could hear the voices. He wasn’t hallucinating. Not this time, he’d gotten good at spotting the hallucinations and this wasn’t like that. There was someone talking, somewhere, not that he could understand what the fuck they were saying, but they were _there_.

Fuck anyone who didn’t believe him.

They blasted down the door to the stairs and swept to the next level. Bucky cleared the immediate corridor with Stark and Romanova, and Steve joined them, glancing around. This floor looked exactly like the last, so the scrutiny didn’t last long.

“Nat, you’re with Sergeant Barnes,” Rogers declared. If he saw the way Romanova twitched in protest, he didn’t acknowledge it. “Take the east side. Tony, I’m on point and no more games.”

Stark sighed exaggeratedly.

“I heard you the first time, Captain Buzz Kill.”

Bucky stared, trying to catch Rogers’ eyes as he turned again. Either the guy was completely oblivious, which Bucky knew he wasn’t, or he was ignoring Bucky as well as Romanova. After the scene not fifteen minutes ago, he’d expected Rogers to watch him like a hawk. At least he expected the Captain to catch the not-so-subtle hint that his pet Black Widow was giving that she didn’t want to be alone with him.

Nada. As if he was refusing to make a big deal out of what had happened. As if Rogers trusted him and wanted to make sure the team dynamic didn’t suffer. It made as much sense as Bucky being upset that Rogers hadn’t believed him. 

As if there was nothing more to discuss, Rogers motioned for Stark to follow and headed off down to clear his first set of rooms. Both Bucky and Romanova stared after him, then looked at each other.

There was a soft laugh that could have been either Stark, or Rogers.

“And here I thought you two were the professionals of our group,” Rogers taunted.

Romanova’s shoulders snapped back and it would have been funny if he hadn’t felt his own body give a similar response. Since it did, he couldn’t say the biting comment about disappointing her Alpha that was on the tip of his tongue. It made him angrier, though, to know Rogers had played him so fucking easily. Like he did to Stark.

Like Bucky was a part of their team.

Infuriated, Bucky slipped past Romanova and took point. In silence they picked up their easy routine, sweeping room after room after room, faster than Rogers with Stark. How well they worked together only made Bucky angrier because Rogers was right to put them together. Romanova had been far slower with Stark than Rogers, so they were moving faster as a group. He could feel it, though, her tension. Her hyper-awareness of him, as if he was also a threat.

What made him angriest of all, though, were the fucking voices. They hadn’t stopped. If anything, they’d grown louder. Still muffled, still gibberish, but _there_ and he couldn’t prove it to anyone. The professional in him said he needed to tell Rogers, follow orders, but he wouldn’t. No fucking way.

It was almost bad enough that he missed Stark’s chatter. Almost. That had been a distraction at best and they couldn’t afford to be distracted any more. Rogers shouldn't have let Stark distract them from the beginning. They had come in here knowing there was an enemy, it shouldn’t have taken a brief sighting of the creature to force professionalism on who Bucky was starting to suspect was a civilian.

They’d sent him into the Three Sisters Complex with a civilian. Christ. Days like this made him miss his old Hydra quartermasters. Okay, that was pushing it, but they had at least given him proper supplies and troops.

When the shadow moved, Bucky had worked himself up enough that he fired without thinking. It wasn’t like him, not to properly sight his target, but the bullet struck true if the ensuing yelp was any indication.

At his side, Bucky felt Romanova swivel to cover him and let himself grin. Having a Black Widow for backup wasn’t anything to sneeze at. The shadow detached from its corner of the corridor and sprinted away. 

Without hesitation, Bucky followed and Romanova followed him without prompting. They moved swiftly, sweeping each intersection and moving on, following the blood trail more than any sound of paws on steel. There really wasn’t much sound of running, though they caught another glimpse of their prey as it rounded a corner. Then another and another, following the blood trail until it was fading, vanishing, disappearing.

“Status,” Rogers demanded, and Bucky was proud of him for having waited that long for the request.

“In pursuit of single tango,” Romanova answered for him. Bucky didn’t want to know how she’d figured out he didn’t like to report in, was only quietly grateful she did it for him. “Looks like the trail’s going cold on this one, too.”

“Copy,” Rogers said tersely, “Keep me appraised.”

“Copy,” Natasha answered.

The trail went cold two turns later.

“And I think I’m lost,” Bucky announced. 

Romanova laughed.

“Sure you are,” she ribbed, the tension and mistrust sliding away like it hadn’t been there. 

“Seriously?” Bucky pressed a hand to his heart. “I could be lost.”

“And I could be American, doesn’t make it true.”

“Glad to see you two are getting along again,” Rogers interjected, his voice warm in ways that did things to Bucky’s insides that Bucky plain hated. “Lost it?”

Bucky looked down the dark corridors, empty on both ends. No sign of the creature, no sign of struggle, of people who must have worked here. Absolutely fucking nothing.

“Lost it,” Romanova confirmed.

Though they’d been teasing each other, neither Natasha, nor Bucky had lowered their weapons. They’d stayed on guard, watching for their lost prey. If it had been human, they could have been swayed by the banter into doing something careless. It wasn’t, but that hadn’t stopped either of them from the attempt. At least, it had set Rogers at ease. Bucky wasn’t going to admit that was a benefit. He’d already spent too much effort thinking about the Alpha as it was.

“Anyone else feel like they’re being played with?” Stark asked.

“They’re animals, Tony,” Rogers protested. “They don’t play games. We’ve only scared them.”

“Yes, the thing on the video feed looked plenty _scared_ ,” Stark scoffed.

“All right,” there was a metallic echo through the comms, “Move on.”

“Barnes, I fucking hate you,” Stark gripped.

Bucky paused, glanced at Romanova and she shrugged. The statement was too confusing for him to know if he should be angry or not. Which meant he was _both_ angry and confused.

“The fuck did I do?”

Rogers snickered.

“Taught our fearless leader a new trick,” Stark grumbled.

“Oh,” Romanova laughed again, “Steve must have hit him in the head. It is a useful trick. I used it, too.”

“I fucking _hate_ you,” Stark repeated.

Bucky scratched at his neck and started back the way he and Romanova had come from when chasing the hellhound.

“I feel like I should have copyrighted it or something,” he muttered.

“Too late,” Rogers said, far too happy about the matter.

“Hate all of you,” Stark groused.

Because Bucky hadn’t been lost, within minutes, he returned them to where he’d shot the hellhound. Silence had fallen over the comms again and it was both a blessing and a curse. The tension had spiked, and without his anger, Bucky was once again without a distraction. The only sound besides his breathing was Romanova’s and her heartbeat, as well as the quiet, “Clear,” from the comms. 

This, he recalled, was why Rogers had let Tony chatter and distract them. The tension was, frankly, a distraction in its own right. Dangerous, making them jump at shadows.

And not all the shadows _were_ shadows.

The sound of an explosion somewhere in the complex was echoed by the odd sound of Stark’s repulsors in the comms. Both Bucky and Romanova jumped, glancing at each other, and then in the direction of the commotion. 

“Single tango contact,” Rogers reported over the comms. “In pursuit.”

Bucky glanced at Romanova again, then covered his comm unit with his fist so not to disturb the duo on the other end.

“Is it me, or is this very familiar?”

The look Romanova shot him was assessing, then covered her own unit.

“A pattern,” she agreed, though reluctantly. “Fourth time. Switching between us and them. Probably waiting for an opening, or a weak link. Predators do that all the time.”

Raising an eyebrow, Bucky said flatly, “You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself.”

It warmed him when she glared.

Opening her mouth to retort, Romanova went completely tense as Rogers abruptly shouted, “Tony, down!” A gun fired, once, twice, three times. Ricochets zigged so close they almost melded into one continuous noise. Even Bucky tensed. Rogers was firing in a tight space, putting his precious Omega in danger. 

The roar that followed made the comm unit screech in protest. 

Then silence.

The abrupt cessation of sound was so complete, Bucky felt deaf with it. From the looks of her, Romanova had stopped breathing. She took a step, in the direction of the commotion, and Bucky’s hand grabbed her arm before he considered the action. Firmly, he shook his head once. The glare she fixed on him this time wasn’t as satisfying, but after she shook of his arm, she made no motion to run off after her pack leader again.

The fever was making them all careless.

“Jesus, you’re bleeding,” Stark blurted.

“I’m fine,” Rogers snapped, “Are you? Did I hit you? JARVIS? Status?”

Bucky let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

“Steve?” Natasha said, her voice calmer than her appearance, not that Bucky thought he would ever tell anyone that he’d seen a Black Widow unnerved. “Report?”

“The thing turned on us,” Rogers said, “Tried to knock Tony into a… I dunno, a thing.”

“A thing,” Bucky repeated dryly.

Rogers sighed.

“A thing that looks like, if hit hard enough, would act like a nice can opener.”

“Steve is bleeding,” Stark reported dutifully. “Aren’t you supposed to report injuries, Cap? Isn’t that regulations or whatever?” 

“Shut up, Tony,” Rogers mumbled, louder he said, “I’m fine. Just a graze. Fuckin’ death trap in here. Tony, examine the corpse. See if you can figure anything out. Sergeant, we’re holding position until he’s done, so you two keep moving. Don’t waste more time.”

Bucky spared half a thought for how Rogers had known they weren’t moving before following his orders. Orders that had been directed solely at Bucky, not at Romanova. As if it was his half of the team, not hers. As if Rogers considered him capable of command.

The Captain was going to be the death of him.

“JARVIS reports all clear,” Stark said. “And, um, Cap, how many times did you fire your weapon again?”

The exasperation in Steve’s voice when he answered didn’t make sense to Bucky.

“Three times. Which you know,” Ah, so that’s why. “Why are you making me confirm it?”

There was a dull click-click and Bucky realized Rogers was taking the moment to reload. Three shots in a seventeen clip was peanuts, but the Captain wasn’t taking any chances. Then again, Bucky thought bitterly, he had his Omega to protect. He wouldn’t take any chances with him.

“I’ve got five bullet wounds here,” Stark said and that drew Bucky from his sour thoughts. “I’m guessing this is the same hound Sergeant Sneaky Boots and Spider Queen just ran into, as well as the one she shot with me the floor above. Since we’re blowing the doors, it makes sense that it followed us down, but…”

“But?” Rogers prompted.

“But,” Stark drawled slowly, “it’s not really in an animal's nature to come back for second helpings, let alone thirds, Cap. These things must be pretty berserk.”

“Then why did it run?” Rogers asked, exactly as Bucky had been about to. “If it’s berserk…”

“I don’t have all the answers,” Stark snapped. “I’m telling you what I can see right in front of me. This thing has been stalking us and when it couldn’t find an easy meal, it attacked. Maybe ‘berserk’ was the wrong word, but how about I just say not fucking normal? Is that simple enough for you?”

“Tony,” Steve said and the comms rustled and went silent.

A moment later, Stark let out a whoosh of air.

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” he mumbled. “Sorry. Lemme... Lemme look at it a bit longer.”

“Steve?” Romanova said before Bucky could even open his mouth. “Is it just a graze?”

Rogers huffed in irritation, but that they could hear it was enough for Bucky at that moment.

“Yes, it’s already healing. Focus, please.”

The ‘please’ was hardly out of Steve’s mouth when the hellhound attacked from Bucky’s left. It had managed to hide itself beneath a desk, waiting just long enough for him to sweep his immediate right as they entered the room. He had just enough time to turn and get his arm between the thing’s jaws as it bowled him over. It was heavy, dense with muscle and bone, and the weight of it centered somewhere around Bucky’s shoulders breaking even his balanced stance and making him fall.

On his back, Bucky jammed the muzzle of his rifle under the beast’s jaw and fired at the same time as Romanova. Both the top of its head, and the bottom exploded in a rain of blood, brain, and worse.

_Fucking gross_ , Bucky thought as he rolled from beneath the hellhound and swept his rifle left to right.

“Clear,” Romanova announced, having been doing the same as Bucky was trapped. “Barnes?”

“Fine,” Bucky said, not hiding the disgust he felt, “Gross, but fine. Anyone finds a shower, you let me know.”

“Report,” Rogers demanded, right on cue.

“It jumped us,” Romanova reports, “Knocked Barnes over, but it’s down.”

“All right,” Rogers said decisively, “You two make your way to us. We’re clearing the rest of this as a unit. It’ll slow us down, but it’s safer.”

“Not like we have a time limit,” Stark quipped. There was a pause and then Stark demanded, “Right, Cap? Not like there’s a deadline you failed to mention. Right? Because you would have mentioned if there was a deadline.” Another pause and Stark blurted, “Natasha, there’s a fucking _time limit_.”

Bucky wasn’t surprised. The way Rogers kept pushing for speed and efficiency all the harder the lower they moved through the complex was telling enough for him.

“Steve,” Romanova practically growled, and it was so unexpected Bucky couldn’t think to get angry himself. The Omegas, so clearly and firmly on their Alpha’s side thus far, were readily turning on him now. Unafraid, even though Steve was their pack leader, because they were clearly in the right. 

“Fourteen hours,” Rogers finally said, reluctantly, “Then they’re nuking the place.”

“And you thought we didn’t need to know that?” Stark demanded, his voice rising. “A nuke?”

“I would have informed you if it became relevant,” Rogers said defensively. “It hasn’t been, yet, and I’ve given us a ten hour window to get clear.”

“Remember that honesty thing we talked about?” Bucky asked aggressively. 

“Oh, shut the hell up,” Rogers said, unexpectedly irritated. “This place is a fucking hellhole. I knew coming in here everyone was going to be agitated, not least of all just because you’re here, Sergeant. It was not _relevant_. If we take too long, they will nuke the fucking place, but we quite literally have over a dozen hours left, and more than we need to get clear, even if something goes wrong. I’ve been monitoring the time, how fast we’re going, and if we had come close, I would have told you.”

Bucky bristled, but he had to admit the Captain was right that the information wasn’t relevant to their mission. They still had to get in, deal with Clarkson, and get out. 

There was a thud from the comm and Bucky felt something close enough to guilt that he felt uncomfortable. 

“Stark,” Bucky drawled, “Would you rather...”

Stark sucked in a breath.

“I don’t hate you anymore,” he gushed.

Bucky didn’t have to hide his grin with Romanova behind him.

“...accidentally email something embarrassing to your whole company, or eat an entire stick of butter?”

“Oh, hands down the email. Not like there’s anything left that people don’t know. Even Steve’s seen the sex tape.”

“Oh god, don’t remind me,” Rogers said, sounding genuinely horrified. “I still owe Clint something horrible for that.”

“The super glue on his arrows wasn’t enough?” Natasha laughed. “Or the snaps under his toilet seat that nearly made him shoot his own foot?”

“No,” Rogers declared, his voice passionate, “Not nearly good enough. He has to _suffer_.”

“Hey!” Stark cried. “It isn’t that bad!”

“You’re right,” Rogers said, “It’s worse.”

Bucky laughed.

“So what about you, Captain?” Bucky prompted.

“Definitely the butter,” Rogers answered, unsurprisingly.

“Natasha?” Stark said, taking over the prompting.

“Butter,” Romanova answered, also unsurprisingly. “You, too, Barnes?”

“Email,” Bucky answered easily, “Not like I got many secrets left, and an entire stick of butter? Disgusting.”

Rogers, of course, had to go and prove him wrong.

“Even if that fact’s your sister used to call you Bucksey because she couldn’t say the nickname?”

Bucky felt his ears turn pink, even though no one laughed and the little tidbit was innocuous enough. Everyone’s kid siblings called them something stupid at some point. Usually on purpose, not because they had a lisp. 

“How the hell do you know that?” Bucky demanded, torn between rage and a strange helplessness that _someone remembered Becca_. There was this burn in his chest - shame and regret - that always came when his family was mentioned, because after all those years, he barely remembered them without prompting.

Rogers chuckled.

“I went to school with her, Sergeant,” he said easily. “We weren’t the best of friends, but it wasn’t like the class was very big. We talked on occasion.”

“How the hell can you remember something that happened almost a century ago?” Bucky asked, feeling suspicious suddenly. The memories, pulled out at exactly the right time to have the best effect, started to look fishy and fake. 

“It wasn’t a century to me,” Steve answered.

“Even so, you’re telling me you remember every little conversation with every single person you met?” Bucky pressed, feeling as if this was staged somehow. Another damned mind game.

“No, course not,” Steve said, “but I remember when a girl said somethin’ nice. It wasn’t somethin’ that happened everyday.”

“And she talked about me?” Bucky asked. 

“Once. Tommy Turner pulled her pigtails, so I knocked him on his ass and she said…” Rogers cleared his throat. “She said I was as good a fella as her big brother, Bucksey.”

Bucky glowered, stomping into the room the Captain and Stark were in. The latter was bent over a hellhound corpse, poking and prodding. He looked to have cut the thing open from sternum to gut, and Bucky’d been able to smell the stench well before they actually arrived.

“And you called her a quiff,” Bucky snarled.

“Yeah, well you ’ad just called my ma a whore,” Rogers said, not looking at all defensive. “Didn’t mean it, was just angry.”

“Why do you even remember shit like that?” Bucky demanded, still not certain he believed any of this.

Rogers gave him an odd look and crossed his arms.

“Sergeant,” he said slowly, “you were the pride a Brooklyn: boxing champion, golden boy. Worse thing you ever did was steal some produce an’ _everyone_ knew who you were. Everyone talked about ya. Don't _you_ remember? All the fellas wanted t’be just like you.”

Bucky felt Romanova go still behind him, even Stark’s faceplate lifted to look at Bucky. 

“Rogers,” the fight left Bucky all at once. “I haven’t been back to Brooklyn for over seventy years. It’s been so long, I don’t even really remember my mother’s face any more.”

Frowning, Rogers watched him a moment before saying carefully, “I’m sorry, Sergeant. I…can’t really wrap my head around the fact that what, for me, is my not-so-distant past is something completely different for you. Do you want me to stop bringing it up?” 

“Yes,” Bucky said, shaking off that uncomfortable feeling that Rogers’ prattling was causing. He didn't need it here and certainly not now.

Something open shuttered in Rogers’ expression, but he nodded firmly.

“Then consider it done. Tony, how’s it coming?”

“Uh,” Stark looked back down at the hellhound, seeming to just have remembered its presence, “Well, I’m not learning much beyond that it’s a lot like the former rat we found. Big claws, what is probably poison, nasty fucking teeth.”

“Anything else to learn?”

“Maybe?” Stark’s shoulder moved in what was probably a shrug in the bulky suit. “Can’t say for sure unless I look.”

“Anything useful?”

“All knowledge is useful,” Stark protested.

“Tony,” Rogers said warningly.

“Dunno, but probably not.”

Rogers nodded and nodded his head to the door.

“Then let's get moving again. Sergeant, you’re on point. I’ll take rear again.”

Rolling his shoulders, Bucky turned and went to the door. It was easier, having orders, a mission to complete. Easier than thinking about Rogers’ stupid open face, or his recklessness, or his smell, or anything else about him. 

Romanova and Stark fell into place behind him and Bucky didn’t wait to see if Rogers was ready, just set off down the hall. He and Stark had cleared maybe a quarter of their rooms, while Bucky and Natasha had cleared only a little more. There was a lot of ground to cover, and apparently no time to waste. If Rogers had to scramble to keep up, then so be it. He had given the order and should have been prepared.

Opening the next door, Bucky signaled Romanova to go left and they swept in together. Stark and Rogers followed, the latter stopping near the door. The room was bigger than most Bucky had cleared so far, wide open with steel cages lining the walls, and a door in every wall. The latches on all the cages were shut, the bedding of whatever had lived there fresh, food and water in the dishes. There wasn’t an animal in sight, however, every cage was empty.

“Weird,” Stark muttered.

“Do you hear that?” Bucky demanded, leaning forward as if that would make the voices more intelligible. They had started up again, growing louder. Not shouting, but definitely talking.

“I don’t hear anything,” Rogers said. “What do you hear?” 

And that didn’t make sense because it sounded nearly on top of them.

“Nat, on your three!” Rogers barked.

They all swiveled and watched as the door to the east thudded open. Standing in the doorframe, was a hellhound. Black eyed, its head was even more misshapen than in the video, rows upon rows of teeth pushing its jaw out. The head itself was so huge, the hellhound appeared to have no neck, just a massive skull set atop powerful shoulders that then led to equally powerful front legs. All four of its feet were tipped with long, wicked-looking claws that clacked as it settled into a crouch and growled. The growl was oddly hollow, almost as if the thing’s throat was damaged, adding an odd whistling sound to the growl.

“How the fuck didn’t we hear that?” Stark demanded.

From Bucky’s left and right, the two other doors to the room thumped open. Stark and Romanova swiveled to these threats, but Bucky kept his focus on the first hellhound. Then Rogers cursed and Bucky glanced over to watch him back into the room, another of the beasts now in the doorway they had entered.

Surrounded.

“NVGs off!” Rogers shouted. “Flares!”

Romanova was reaching for the goggles as soon as Rogers' call registered. So was Bucky. They knocked their NVGs clear just as several flares shot from Stark’s suit and attached themselves to the ceiling. The room and corridors beyond the doors were instantly bathed in the red, fluttering light that cast twitching, shifting shadows over the large space, making it hard for Bucky to understand what he was seeing at first. Rows upon rows of the hellhounds glared at him from the doorway, the beasts crouched low to the ground. They were packed in so tight, their sloped shoulders pressed against each other.

A trap. They had walked right into a fucking trap.

“Back to back!” Rogers barked orders as the first rows crouched. The beasts’ eyes were black and strangely dull, growling and baring their unnaturally black fangs. Without warning, as one, the creatures darted forward, quick as lightning. In the sudden movement, Bucky could have sworn the things’ eyes flashed red. Bucky, Rogers, and Romanova fired, the sound echoing in the small room and ringing painfully in Bucky’s skull. Stark’s repulsors howled. Hellhounds whined and fell dead, but kept coming. Wave after wave, replaced almost as fast as they fell. Less a pack than a swarm, of black eyes and black teeth, howling an eerie, dry sound and dying.

Every time, the bodies fell a little closer. The next creatures scrambling up over their fallen kin to get to them, all animal doggedness and vicious snarling.

“There’s too many!” Stark protested, raising up into the air for a better view, his movements hindered by the fact he had three unarmored humans close behind his back. If he tried some fancy flying in the limited space, he would knock at least one of them over.

“Keep firing,” Rogers ordered, but Stark was right. They all knew Stark was right, but so was Rogers. There was no better ground than that they stood upon.

The hellhounds were in the room with them now, darting sideways, circling around and trying to flank them. Red eyes flashed again; a pattern Bucky was sure, but one he couldn’t put his finger on. Under the terrible noise of guns going off in an enclosed space, so loud he was afraid his ears would bleed, the faint whispers of which he was peripherally aware the whole time were getting worse, the words just on the edges of understanding, loud and fierce. Sharp, like Rogers’ command tone.

“Reloading,” Romanova called.

“Covering,” Rogers replied instantly. Bucky heard them shift behind them, heard more shots fired, each one like a spike to his head. He could see Rogers’ face twisting at the noise too. He heard something heavy collide with Rogers’ metal shield. Then two guns were firing again, momentarily taking away his hearing and signalling the Widow had reloaded within seconds.

“Running low,” Rogers informed the team.

Bucky wondered if he was supposed to do something about that. His own rifle was spouting almost continuous fire, adding to the general cacophony of noise. He took the kick of each shot on his metal shoulder, the plates at the juncture rearranged into a pattern that supported the stock without any effort. It was getting harder to orient himself using hearing, though. The sound wave of each released shot bouncing back from the smooth hard walls and back at them. 

Romanova said, “Got you,” and he sensed more than heard them shuffling again. Another bong, then a strange, high-pitched whine, and Bucky glanced back to watch the shield crash into several hellhounds, rebounding to several more, and then back to Rogers in time for the man to catch another hellhound on it and throw it back. Then Romanova was throwing him his gun, reloaded, and taking her position again.

Even to him, the teamwork was impressive, as was the Frisbee. 

Turning back to cover his side of the room, Bucky took stock of the devastation before him. The fallen creatures, the ones attacking, the wounded ones that kept coming, not seeming to notice their injuries. Only immediate kill shots had been effective; body shots were useless as the injured hellhounds proved. Either the beasts had organs in different places that most mammals, or they didn’t feel pain as wounds barely slowed them down. Stark’s repulsor blasts were crushing the things, their concussive force grinding the beasts insides so they were nothing but bags of flesh. And his blasts weren’t ricocheting, unlike the rest of them. 

Even as he thought it, Bucky had to jerk his rifle up to stop a bullet from hitting him in the neck. He growled, shifting slightly to keep away from more ricochets from the Widow.

“Okay, fuck this,” Rogers growled over the din. “Tony, light ‘em up.”

“Rock and roll,” Stark said blandly.

A whirl of mechanics and the sound of dozens of guns erupted from Bucky’s left. Flinching at the veritable wall of sound, his ears ringing so sharply he was sure they were bleeding now. Bucky chanced another glance to find exactly that, dozens of guns having cleared a swath of hellhounds from Stark’s side of the room. Most rounds seemed to be targeted, but more than that had destroyed the expensive equipment the lab had housed.

“But Steve,” Natasha said flatly in the sudden silence, her tone robotic and muted, “the lab equipment. The data on the computers. It’s all lost.”

“Ha-fucking-ha,” Rogers grumbled.

Bucky found himself grinning fiercely, in the tiny pocket of peace Stark carved them. The halls were still tightly packed, teeming with the unnatural creatures. They had killed enough that the bodies were piling higher, blocking some of his view, but there seemed to be no end to these things. 

“Sergeant,” Rogers said dryly, “Feel free to get creative.”

There was another rush of air as the shield went flying again. Bucky, eyeing the hallway, asked, “Do you need us to go south?”

“Think the new mission objective is just to stop Dr. Clarkson and not die,” Rogers answered bluntly. “Fuck clearing this place. They’re gonna have to burn it out anyway.”

“Taking that as a no,” Bucky said, slipping his hand into his pouch and palming one of the tiny grenades he carried with him, before lobbing it down the hall. The eyes about them glowed red, the whispers turned to nearly a shout, and the explosion brought the ceiling and walls caving in. 

“Oh, I can do that,” Stark declared, incapable of letting anyone get the better of him. “North, Cap?”

“Drop it,” Rogers confirmed.

“Barnes, Cover me.”

The whine of repulsors started up before Bucky could respond, but he didn’t hesitate to cover Stark. It was only professional. He pulled a pistol from his back, firing it at the hellhounds Stark had been dealing with while taking the recoil of his rifle with his metal arm. Hellhounds howled and screamed and died, but even Bucky knew he couldn’t keep up the sheer firepower forever. Thankfully, Stark only took a few moments.

A blast of golden light filled the room, followed by the stench of fried hellhound, and the entire hallway collapsed in on itself. The building shook.

“Fuck, Tony!” Steve shouted.

Bucky’s rifle clicked on empty.

“Woops, too much power. Sorry.”

As if the beasts understood what was going on, they lunged from all corners of the room, eyes glowing red. Heavy bodies thundering past Bucky to attack Rogers, swarming about him in seconds. Bucky looked over his shoulder towards the destruction his own grenade caused and saw another one of those creatures, its maw wide open, black teeth bared, lunging at Romanova’s flank. The Widow twitched, obviously registering the movement in her peripheral vision, but she didn’t stop shooting at her current target. She just braced her feet and waited for the blow. 

The beast was going right for her and the woman still wasn’t moving!

Snarling, Bucky emptied the rest of his pistol’s clip into the beast snapping at him and the one behind as he threw the rifle away, the strap made it arch to hit his back as he pivoted on his heel. The gun in his hand dropped to the floor as he folded his metal first up, the whine of his metal arm covered by the sound of gunfire. Bucky didn’t put any effort into halting the momentum of his turn, only shifted the arm forward, placing his whole weight behind his punch as it connected with the side of the next hellhound’s head. Bones gave, caving in under the hit. The sensors in the arm folded up tight, preventing him from feeling whatever the inside of the thing’s head was like. 

Unfolding his fingers, Bucky jerked his hand back and gripped the first hard and unyielding mass he found, hoping it was bone. He hooked his fingers underneath and yanked, ripping away the top of the hellhound’s skull. Continuing the motion, he twisted and flung the flesh and bone at the creature almost on top of Romanova, hitting it square in the maw. It derailed its lunge, black claws skidding over concrete and carving inch deep furrows in the stone. 

It crouched down, shaking its head until the flesh covering its eyes fell to the floor. One strangely wide elbow rested against the ground, black eyes darting about in its skull. Then it howled, a hoarse and eerie sound as its eyes glowed suddenly red. 

A repulsor whined above his head, the beam of light knocking back a beast lunging for his back. Bucky stared, knowing something had just happened. Something they needed to know to make it out of here alive. 

The beast surged back to its feet. Bucky expected it to come after him now that they’d made eye contact, but the creature turned back to Romanova. She noticed, but still didn’t turn and now Bucky could see why. Her shots were keeping Rogers' from being overwhelmed, a half dozen of the creatures having gotten within his range as well. Either he’d run dry on ammo, or they were just too close, as he had discard his firearm too and was using his fists and the shield to fight them off.

Bucky barely had time to realize the implication. The hound didn’t come for him. It _ignored_ him in favor of going after Romanova, the weaker target, again. They weren’t mindless beasts. They were _smart_.

Cursing, ignoring the bounding paws at his own back, he lunged for the Widow just as the thing was opening its maw, black teeth bared to full extent and preparing to take a bite out of Romanova’s shoulder. He didn’t have leverage or space, to do anything more than extend his metal arm, plates rearranging into one solid, impenetrable wall as he jammed his forearm between the thing’s teeth. He felt the jolt as it bit down, the power of its jaws unbelievable. The arm whined in response, but held. 

At his back, the repulsors whined and blasted, whined and blasted, but beyond that, Bucky was aware of the thunder of approaching paws. With his body tilted precariously forwards, arm outstretched and caught by the hound, his back was wide open. 

Metal arm still jammed in the beast’s mouth as it jerked, trying to rip and tear at him, Bucky grabbed his biggest combat knife from its sheath on his back with his flesh hand. Spinning it in his palm to face outward, he thrust just as it leaped, driving the serrated blade through the open maw right through the soft palate, and into the monster’s brain. The dark eyes went lifeless. 

Twisting his hips, Bucky kicked at the creature he had speared on his knife. It skidded away, the teeth ripping a long gash in the back of his hand as he pulled it free. Even as he did, Romanova moved, diving under his metal arm and placing the muzzles of her guns right below the jaw of the thing still trying to rip the metal apart. Both barrels fired at once, blowing a hole in the hound's head. 

Even as it twitched through its death throes, the thing’s teeth were still closed tightly enough that Bucky couldn’t tear himself away. He had to flare the plates of his arm, making it shiver violently until the jaws which were clamped on it lost their traction, and he slid free just in time to slam his elbow into the head of the hound approaching from behind.

Whirling, Bucky spun for his next target. Romanova moved fluidly at his side, their backs pressing together to take the next threat. Except there wasn’t one. Rogers and Stark stood back-to-back like Romanova and him, but the only hellhounds in sight were the dead. 

Rogers seemed to notice at the same time, but he didn’t relax, just sought his gun and reloaded while watching the two avenues into the room.

“Status,” he called.

“Up,” Romanova declared.

“JARVIS?” Stark asked.

Rogers snorted as if that was some kind of answer.

“Up,” Bucky said, deciding on Romanova’s turn of phrase.

“Barnes is bleeding,” Romanova declared.

Rogers’ eyes slid to his, then back towards the hall.

“I know.”

Well that was…interesting. With all the blood in the room, Rogers could tell that some was his? That was…creepy. Yes, he was going with creepy.

And now everybody was looking at him because of some scratch. Bucky sighed and looked at his palm, the ten-inch long gash wasn’t all that bad, would be healed soon enough. It was bleeding copiously, as most his wounds did, his body trying to clear all foreign objects from the wound before they knitted back together.

He grimaced and raised his hand to his lips, licking away the blood.

“Jesus, Barnes, are you an animal?” Romanova said, disgust in her voice, the same Bucky had heard countless women direct at men.

The blood tasted odd though, it had a strange bitter tang to it. He spat it out, looking back at the gash and frowning. Something wasn’t right.

“Poisoned?” Stark demanded, instantly turning to Bucky and holding out a hand. “May I?”

Bucky hesitated, but Stark had asked instead of just grabbing, so he offered his arm.

“It was a trap,” Rogers said, sounding angry about it. “They fucking herded us into a trap. And I let them.”

Angry at himself, then. Bucky didn’t look, just watched as Stark’s hand shown a blue light over the ragged tear in his hand. The tear that wasn’t knitting like it should have been. The tear that still burned as if fresh.

“Steve,” Romanova started.

From his periphery, Bucky watched Rogers slash a hand through the air. Gabe sure wasn’t the only perfectionist in Rogers’ unit, then. Dum Dum must have had his hands full with the two of them.

“No excuses, I fucked it up. Shit.”

“Steve,” Bucky said without looking up, ignoring how everyone went still at his deliberate use of the Captain’s first name. It was all the more effective because he hadn’t used it until now. “Calm down. The migraine’s getting to you again. Solve the problem, not the details.”

Letting out a long breath, Rogers nodded and straightened his shoulders. Bucky glanced up at Stark, saw the mask nod, and smirked. 

“So? How bad is it?”

“Well,” Stark said carefully, “I would have said not so bad, except…”

“Except?” Rogers demanded sharply.

“Except,” Stark sounded pained. “Cap, look at this. It’s deep, but you’d call this a graze and say it’s already healing.”

Rogers walked over, but stopped only close enough to get a good look.

“That’s not a graze,” Rogers argued, “but yeah, it shouldn’t cause a problem, right Sergeant?”

Stark didn’t give him a chance to answer.

“Yes, it will, because it’s not doing that super-nifty super-healing it should be.”


	10. Chapter 10

“What do you mean, it’s not healing?” Steve demanded, feeling cold fear grip his chest. 

Barnes took his arm from Tony and held it toward Steve. Taking that as an invitation, Steve approached, but didn’t touch. The wound was deep, bleeding freely. If it had been him, it would have stopped bleeding already. The flesh would have started to knit. Barnes’ wound was the same as an injury inflicted on Tony, whose ability to heal was merely normal.

“How badly does it hurt?” Steve asked.

Twisting his hand back and forth experimentally, Barnes shrugged.

“Burns more than it should, probably the poison. It’s nothing to worry about, assuming the poison doesn’t start eating away at me. Last time I didn’t heal, it was because of acid.”

“Jesus, Bucky,” Steve blurted before he thought of it. Wincing, he expected some kind of outburst, but the Sergeant just looked up at him. In the light of the flares, his eyes swarmed with red shadows, but even now Steve could remember their cool grey color. Like brushed steel, or stormy clouds. They weren’t angry, for once, but assessing. 

“No one calls me that anymore,” Sergeant Barnes said slowly.

“Do you want to be called that again?” Steve asked carefully. Talking to Barnes was like walking a minefield. He never knew what was going to set him off.

“I don’t know,” the Sergeant answered honestly, “I don’t...mind when you call me Sergeant...but I’m not him. Not any more.”

“Bucky, then?” Steve asked, wanting to kick himself for not asking earlier.

Barnes shook his head slowly.

“I’m not him, either. Not like you knew.”

“James?” Steve asked and then laughed when Barnes’ face twisted like he’d just bit into a lemon. “Not James, then.”

“Jim?” Tony asked.

“You call me Barnes,” he growled, turning and fixing the Omega with a dark look.

Tony, thankfully, laughed. 

“Yeah, yeah. Still doesn’t answer what you want to be called.”

Steve felt like a lightbulb went off in his head.

“You know, just ‘cause you’re not the Bucky I knew, doesn’t mean you can’t be him.” Barnes gave him a long look. “Hey, I’m trying, remember? God knows it’s impossible not to tell you’re different.”

The Sergeant huffed suddenly, rolling his eyes. A clear sign of surrender. Steve grinned even before the other man vocalised his agreement.

“Fine,” Bucky sighed. “You are one stubborn bastard, anyone told you that?”

“Only _everyone_ ,” Tony said gleefully.

Steve couldn’t help but smile.

“Okay, so let’s get Bucky something to wrap that up with.” Steve looked around at the group. “Thoughts? ‘Cause I didn’t bring bandages. Didn’t exactly think we’d need ‘em.”

“I’ll find something,” Natasha said easily. 

“While she does that,” Tony said, motioning to Steve. “JARVIS has some intel!”

“Go ahead, Tony,” Steve said, realizing he was still smiling and feeling a little foolish. Not that that meant he could stop. He was well aware that Bucky hadn’t given anyone else permission to call him that. Jeeze, he had it bad.

“Good news or -”

“Bad news first,” Steve cut him off.

“Right, well, bad news is all the research data for the last month is either missing, deleted, or otherwise corrupted so badly not even JARVIS can put it back together. Maybe give us a month or two and we’d have something, but we don’t _have_ a month or two. Same with the security footage. All FUBAR - that’s what you Army folk say, right? FUBAR?”

“Yes, now get on with it, Tony,” Steve said, exasperated.

“Mm, well, the remaining data is all sorts of gibberish science to me, but Bruce is going through what’s made it to the Tower so far and helping JARVIS figure it out. On to the good news! We found the IP of the computer that sent Dr. Clarkson’s video message - thanks for telling us about that, Steve -” Steve felt himself flush, but scowled because that hadn’t been his idea to keep quiet about. “It’s one floor down, terminal SU3012. I have marked it on your handy-dandy map. Also, you’re a dick.”

“Thank you, Tony,” Steve said dryly, “Your displeasure with me is noted and disregarded. Take it up with Fury.”

“Told you,” Bucky murmured, turning to sweep his rifle over the shadows around them.

“Told me what?” Steve asked, trying hard not to sigh. He’d just had one victory, but they were definitely about to slide back two steps. He could feel it.

“You follow Fury, this is what you end up doing. Lying to your team, withholding information. Keeping secrets.”

Steve stared at him blankly.

“I don’t recall that conversation.”

Bucky paused, then looked at him with a frown.

“Seriously? You remember shit from when I was eight, but not what happened _today_? You know, I really can’t tell if you’re trying to fuck with me or not.”

There was no stopping the sigh this time.

“I’m sorry, again, for what I did on the plane. I shouldna done that, tried to manipulate you.”

Barnes let his rifle hang down and rolled his shoulders in something that looked remarkably like exasperation.

“Right now, I’m more worried about you.” 

Once again Steve stared, this time because he could hear the ‘young man’ implied in that statement. There was something to Barnes’ body language, the way he tilted his head and pursed his lips that brought to mind his own mother, lecturing him after getting into another fight. 

“You are trying to please a master that doesn’t share your values and are compromising your own moral values to do it. Actions like that can lead to distraction and stress. In this situation,” Bucky waved his injured hand to indicate the base and the whole fucked-up scenario they were in, “I would prefer it if you kept your head on straight and your focus on the mission, not all over the place.”

Natasha returned with a scarf, holding out her hand, palm up, the other with the garment. Offering to wrap Bucky’s arm if he wanted her to, or letting him do it himself. It was remarkably considerate, considering he could never tell if they liked each other or not.

“The only thing distracting Steve,” she said flatly, “is you and Tony.”

“Hey!” Tony protested. “I’m not a distraction. I’m…something not distracting.”

Natasha turned her head just enough to give him The Look.

“Well, it’s not my most creative come-back,” Tony huffed, “but it got the point across.” 

“And if our fearless leader is distracted by his cock, I can offer my services in _cutting it off_ ,” Bucky offered offhandedly.

Steve felt himself flush, but Natasha looked calmly back at Bucky, still holding out both her hands.

“It’s not his cock distracting him. It’s his heart.”

“Strange. I thought the serum enhanced human physiology, “Bucky snapped immediately back. “I wasn’t aware it relocated major organs from the chest to between the legs, but obviously I’m not up-to-date.” 

Steve wasn’t surprised; Barnes needed to come up on top of any skirmish, verbal or physical. It would have been nice if they weren’t discussing his…anatomy, though.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Steve blurted, thanking god the flares were red and no one could see how hard he was blushing. “Thanks everyone for your concern. Patch him up and let's get moving.”

“Aw,” Tony whined, “it was just getting good. Assassin Showdown, Five o’clock: Whose murder face is more…murdery.”

“Tony,” Steve said warningly. 

Glancing over, he could see Nat and Bucky still glaring at each other. He didn’t groan, but it was a near thing. Snatching the scarf from her hand, he pushed it into Bucky’s metal hand.

“Move,” he ordered, having little doubt at this point that anyone would be allowed to help him with the bandage. 

Lip curling in a sneer, Bucky at least took the thing and stalked off to wrap his injured arm, much like a cat that hid away to lick it’s wounds. Natasha moved to step away and Steve caught her upper arm, drawing her in close. Anything they said would be heard by Bucky, but that didn’t stop Steve from needing to talk to her.

“Seriously?” he demanded, knowing she’d understand what he meant.

Flipping her hair, Natasha fixed The Look on him.

“He’s right,” she said evenly, “you’re distracted. Focus on the mission, not flowers and white picket fences. We can’t afford to have you acting like a little boy with a crush. Not here.”

Steve was certain he couldn’t blush harder.

“That’s not what I’m focussing on,” he muttered belligerently, enjoying the doubletake Natasha did at his not-so-subtle reference to how he was slowly inching into rut because of how good Bucky smelled. “I’d love not to focus on it. Got some suppressants for me? No?” Steve showed his teeth and Natasha flinched. “All right then.”

Releasing her arm, Steve stepped back and glanced at Bucky, who was watching them with narrowed eyes. Natasha slunk away and Steve would have felt guilty if she wasn’t, for whatever reason, acting the way she was. Of all the Avengers, she was his best friend. She _knew_ how much he hated it when he lost control during a rut, lost his focus and sense of self. She knew how angry it made him no one had created a suppressant for it, even in the future, so he had to suffer through on his own. Oh, there were plenty of people who would have been happy to help out Captain America in his time of need. That was half the problem.

“If you’re ready,” Steve said tightly, realizing his temper was probably worse because of his encroaching rut, and also knowing there was shit he could do about it, “I’ll be on point. Bucky on the rear. Tony, Nat; same places.”

Bucky nodded once, and Steve turned away.

“Move out,” he ordered. 

They fell into place behind him and he snapped his NVGs back on as they left the glow of the flares. A glance at the map and he had them on their way, crouched as they swept, mostly silently, down the corridors. Mostly, because Tony couldn’t be silent in his suit if his life depended on it. Which it actually had a time or two. Supposedly there was a ‘stealth suit’ in development, but Steve had yet to see it. Frankly, he didn't hold much hope for such a creation. Most of the noise the suit made came from the rapidly displaced air when he fired off his thrusters, and that happened outside of the suit itself.

The metal corridors stretched green and gleaming before them. If Steve never saw another aluminum wall, floor or ceiling again, he would die a happy man. He understood the complex needed to be easily scrubbed and non-porous. The ceiling, walls, and floor also easily melded with airlocks, allowing them be welded into place without much hassle. It didn’t change the fact that it was not only claustrophobic as hell, but the uniformity of the corridors made them appear smaller, more overwhelming. It was also playing merry hell with his sense of direction.

Thank god for the little Stark phones.

They were halfway to the stairs when Steve felt that itch between his shoulderblades, the one he trusted as much as his own skills. So he paused, turning, noticing first Natasha on his right, careful and collected. On his left, Tony was safe and sound in his suit. 

Steve turned further to get a look at their fourth, and froze. 

The moment he met Bucky’s eyes, or rather the goggles he wore, the man raised his rifle, pointed directly at Steve, and fired. Instead of reacting, Steve could only stare at the scarf wrapped around the man’s flesh hand and wonder if the gash was still bleeding. There wasn’t enough _time_. He couldn’t duck, dodge, or even raise his shield. The muzzle flash flared in Steve’s NVGs, the blinding white light shooting through his skull. A second later, the sound of the shot made his ears ring and pain shattered through his brain, taking his breath with it.

Jerking back, Steve stumbled and fell, not sure if he was hit or where. The back of his head connected with a wall and he gasped, mind reeling with pain, his senses confused. Ears still ringing, Steve could hear more shouting and another shot, a smaller caliber gun. ‘No,’ he tried to say, but there was only the clear ‘ping’ sound a bullet made as it bounced off metal.

Whining, whirring, repulsors powering up and Steve managed to suck in a breath.

“Everybody stand down!” Steve shouted, then gasped as agony flared in his head at the sound of his own voice.

Gingerly, he opened one eye, then the other and immediately wanted to close them again at what he saw. In the limited space of the corridor, Tony had his arms out, repulsors charged and pointing at Bucky. The metal fingers of his prosthetic hand were curled in Natasha’s tac vest so tightly they crumpled the reinforced material like tissue paper. He was keeping her in the air between himself and Tony, the metal arm easily taking her weight, the muscles in his shoulders and neck standing out in sharp relief. She was holding still, probably due to the muzzle of Bucky’s rifle she had pressed under her chin.

“Everybody calm down,” Steve said firmly, hating how weak his own voice sounded to his ears. “Lower your weapons.”

“He shot you!” Tony protested.

Carefully, leaning heavily against the wall, Steve pushed himself to his feet. The repulsors glowed brightly in Tony’s palms, sending shards of pain through Steve’s eyes and making his stomach roil with nausea. It didn’t matter that they were powered up, though; he couldn’t shoot. Bucky had made the best tactical move by using Natasha as a meat shield between them, effectively disarming Tony. It was also the worst choice he could have made, since Tony still had nightmares about his weapons hurting his friends. He would be doubly affected by the scene.

“If he wanted us dead,” Steve said, fighting off another wave of nausea, “He would have gone for you first and he wouldn’t have missed. Tony. Stand. Down. Bucky, that means you, too.”

Bucky’s mouth twisted and his head tilted in the way Steve recognized as scanning his surroundings, probably for any additional tactical advantages. If he found any, he didn’t show it. Slowly, obviously unhappy, but having no other choice, Bucky lowered Natasha to the ground and took his rifle from beneath her chin. He didn’t let her go completely though, obviously wary of Tony.

“Tony,” Steve said warningly.

“He shot at you.”

“Not at him,” Bucky said for the first time. His voice was raspy, but even, controlling his emotions, not letting them read him. “At the hellhound.”

“What hellhound! There was no -” With the hand not trained on Barnes, Tony made an expansive gesture to indicate the state of the not-hellhoundness of the corridor, when he paused. “Huh. A hellhound.”

Steve turned to look in the direction Tony was staring in and saw it too. Just behind the corner of the next intersection there was a growing pool of something dark and a pair of twisted, black legs sprawled on the concrete. Bucky must have noticed the thing inching from its hideout and shot it, possibly saving Steve’s life.

“You could have warned me,” Steve said, still leaning heavily on the wall.

“I shoot faster than I talk,” Bucky responded. “Unless you wanted the thing to escape unscathed.”

“I wanted,” Steve turned to look at Bucky and cringed, throwing his arm over his eyes as pain seared his retinas again, “For fuck’s sake, Tony! Stand the fuck down and power those fucking things off.”

The light vanished in a second and Steve gulped in a breath.

“Form a perimeter; give me a minute. And don’t fucking shoot each other. Jesus Christ, why do I even have to say that? You’re on the same goddamn side! Try to remember that.”

They moved and Steve closed his eyes. He just needed a minute.

\----

Tony’s heart felt like it was going to beat its way out of his chest. The last minutes played back in his mind, over and over, on a twisted replay. Barnes, the psychopath, aiming at Steve. Firing. Steve falling, Tony certain he was dead. Both he and Natasha had turned to deal with the threat, Tony praying Steve wasn’t dead, and watching as Barnes used Natasha as a fucking shield to keep him at bay.

“Sir,” JARIVS said quietly, “Your hands are shaking. Perhaps you should sit down?”

“Fine, thanks, pal,” Tony told the A.I. since JARVIS had taken the liberty of muting his mic. “Keep an eye on Frosty, yeah? Guy’s clearly unstable. Gonna turn on us, and to think I was helping him win Cap’s heart. Good deeds never go unpunished, JARVIS, never.”

“Tony, stop talking to yourself,” Steve said weakly. 

God he sounded bad. The sickness must have been worse than he was letting on. The migraine? It was the likeliest candidate for light sensitivity. 

Unmuting his mic, Tony demanded, “How do you know I’m talking to myself? You couldn’t have heard me; my mic was muted.”

“So you _were_ talking to yourself,” Barnes drawled.

“Not the point, Terminator,” Tony snapped. “Stevie, baby, how’d you know? I gotta tell? Barton says I gotta cut down on those.”

“Don’t call me baby,” Steve said, but there was amusement in his voice and it sounded stronger, which was all that mattered. “You talk with your hands. When you talk to yourself, your fingers twitch.”

“Oh, well, JARVIS, make a note of that.”

“Noted, sir.”

Tony hesitated a moment, then decided talking was better than keeping quiet. It soothed his nerves and seemed to keep Barnes’ focus on him instead of Steve. That was where it needed to be from now on. The bastard wasn’t getting any closer to their fearless leader, just so he could slit his throat in his sleep.

“So, I can’t call you baby. Can I call you Stevie?”

“Sure, Tony,” Steve said, now definitely sounding amused. 

“Stevie sounds like a child’s name,” Barnes grumbled.

“Oh, and Bucky is better?” Tony shot back.

“Tony,” Steve snapped, then tiredly added, “Please don’t.”

Guilt ate at Tony’s stomach and he shifted, feeling his hands twitch.

“Fine, fine,” Tony conceded, “but only because you look like death, Cap. Is it just the migraine? JARVIS says your fever is stable. Unlike Barnes, whose temperature is now at 106, and Natasha’s whose has actually managed to go down. At least someone is getting better.”

“Positive thinking,” Natasha said so seriously Tony couldn’t tell if she was joking. Of course she was joking, because positive thinking? Really? That was hysterical. Only, if she wasn’t joking, Tony didn’t want to poke that hornets nest. Natasha scared him, not that he’d let on to that little fact. The only person he acknowledged was genuinely scary was Pepper.

“Just the migraine,” Steve said, “Caught Bucky’s shot with my NVGs. Half-blinded me, then half-deafened me, then I hit my head because I’m so very graceful.”

Natasha chuckled. 

“He’s beauty, he’s grace, he’s Mr. United States!” Tony sing-songed.

Steve barked out a laugh and then groaned. It was heartening, in a twisted way. It would have been nicer if the laughter hadn’t hurt Steve, but that he was laughing was good. He couldn’t be either too mad at them, or too hurt if he was laughing.

“Oh my god, Tony, don’t be funny right now.”

“Sorry, it’s a curse,” Tony chirped. “Some people are grumpy, some are natural comedians. I’m the latter, and a genius. I have mentioned I’m a genius today?”

“You’re a narcissist,” Barnes snapped.

“Volatile, self-obsessed, don’t play well with others; that, too,” Tony said breezily.

“You play just fine with others,” Steve said, “when you want to.”

“But I’m volatile and self-obsessed?” Tony said, ignoring how proud Steve’s words had made him. It was not…appropriate to be so affected by someone saying he was capable of playing well with others when he wanted to. He knew that, for Christ’s sake.

“You wouldn’t be you if you weren’t,” Steve said.

“I know times have changed, but a bonded Omega fishing for compliments from an unbonded Alpha is still not something that’s done, right?” Barnes mused, his voice artificially absentminded.

Tony growled. Was the bastard calling him a slut?

Steve sighed.

“All right, let's get moving. We have a computer terminal to find, and hopefully a bad guy along with him. Keep your eyes peeled for more mutts.”

Once again, Steve took point. It had been odd at first, but Tony thought he understood now. Being in front kept his eyes off Tony’s repulsors and arc reactor. That didn’t mean he liked having Hannibal Lector at his back. Steve was officially too trusting, his encroaching rut playing havoc with his reasoning. 

Okay, so Grumpy Cat had been shooting at a hellhound. It didn’t change that he’d immediately grabbed Natasha, pointed a gun at her head, and placed her so Tony had nearly shot her in the back. Maybe she had fired first, but he hadn’t actually been hurt. He hadn’t had to put Tony in that situation where one wrong move and his friend would have died. By his hand. Blown to bits because he’d been trying to save Steve, protect Steve. 

It was all so unnecessary. If the jackass had just _said_ something. Steve could take care of himself. He was enhanced, he was a strong fighter, he didn’t need a babysitter who should have been watching their backs, not their front.

Steve’s hand came up in a fist and their procession halted. The hand turned sideways, pointing two fingers to the left and then crooking forward twice before curling into a fist again. Wordlessly, Natasha slipped past Steve and took up a position a few feet away. Slipping his gun into its holster - god, that was still weird - Steve lowered his shield to his side and turned to Tony.

Making sure his repulsors were completely powered down, Tony held up his hands, palms out.

“What did I do?” he asked quickly. “Did I forget some protocol or something? You remember I’m not military, right? Not a soldier.”

“Of course not,” Barnes laughed.

Tony thought he should get points for not trying to punch him.

“Shut up, Barnes,” Steve snapped, stepping closer to Tony. The now-empty gloved hand caught the back of Tony’s helmet and tugged him down. “I’m fine,” he said quietly. “Natasha is fine. Just breathe, Tony. Everyone’s all right and you didn’t hurt anyone.”

A weight Tony hadn’t realized was squeezing his chest abruptly vanished. He inhaled deeply, also becoming aware that his breathing had been too fast. That must have been what alerted Steve, how he’d known of the impending panic attack that Tony hadn’t noticed was creeping up on him. 

Infinitely grateful for the helmet hiding his face, Tony nodded once.

“Right, of course. I know that, Cap. I _was_ there.”

Steve’s lips twitched with amusement, clearly not fooled, but he was too good to actually comment on that. 

“Then remember that nobody was hurt, okay? It was just a misunderstanding, Tony.”

Sometimes, like now, Tony thought Steve knew exactly what he was doing when he touched Tony, or said his name. Other times it seemed like he was completely oblivious to the effect he had. Normally, Tony was committed to figuring out which. This time, he was just grateful to calm down so easily.

“Yeah, misunderstanding, sure. Aren’t we on a time schedule? Move along, Capsicle.”

Tony stepped back, Steve’s hand falling away, and turned around to come face-to-face with the Terminator standing mere inches behind him. The goggles hid his expression, but Tony knew he would be glaring, or sneering, or otherwise thinking he was better than him. Because he was a soldier, enhanced, like Steve. As if he was possibly Steve’s equal, because that was the only way he would be better than Tony.

He vocalised, forcefully - Tony Stark did not yelp - and asked, “What the hell are you doing?!”

Barnes stared at him for a moment, unnervingly quiet, before rolling his shoulders. Both of them. Tony stared at the way the bionic arm moved, and itched to take it apart to see how it worked. He was staring so hard, he missed the psychotic Omega’s first words, only catching up in the middle.

“... watching your back.”

There was no way he heard that right.

“Run that by me again?”

“He said,” Steve sounded far too amused, “He’s watching your back. You know, like good teammates do.”

Swiveling his head to look at Steve, Tony focused on Robocop again and narrowed his eyes. Not that they could see it, but it was the thought that counted in these situations. As though he’d sensed Tony was going to say something to ruin the team moment, Steve thumped his helmet. The echo rang through the suit and he cursed, twitching away as he heard Natasha’s distinctive huff of amusement.

“I hate you so much,” Tony said fiercely, because he wasn’t ridiculously fond of everyone doing that to him. That was absurd. So what if that’s the kind of thing you’d do to a little brother. Steve and Natasha were both younger than him. 

They started moving again, falling back into formation with ease. At least, easy now. The first few times, Tony had struggled to remember where he was supposed to stand, what his job was supposed to be. It was so much less trouble working on your own. No one to worry about, no one to notice when you screwed up, no crazy Omega who may or may not want to kill you at your back.

Did Barnes want to kill them? Tony was no longer as sure as he had been fifteen minutes ago. The man was an enigma. Nice one second, tearing into your throat the next. And Steve was _compatible_ with him. With the Winter Soldier, voted Most Likely to Tear a Man to Pieces with His Bare Hands. Then again, Steve was compatible with him too, and he certainly wasn’t going to be winning any popularity awards any time soon. Well, not with anyone who’d actually met him.

Maybe Steve just liked assholes.

They passed the multitude of corridors and crossings without meeting any more resistance. It was unnerving that they had been fighting off dozens of the smelly beasts, and now there was not a hellhound in sight. No claw marks on the floor, no movement in dark corners, no distant howl. From one moment to the next it looked as if they were completely alone in the base. 

Maybe they had chased them all off with their mighty heroics.

“Was Peggy an asshole?” Tony blurted as they descended the stairs to the third level.

Steve didn’t stumble, but his entire body jerked and he slammed the door shut after only just having opened it. Well, _that_ wasn’t telling at all. Note to self, Tony thought, don’t bring up Peggy again.

“ _Excuse me_?” Steve demanded, turning sharply around.

“Uh, you know, never mind,” Tony said.

Except Barnes couldn’t stay quiet for _ten fucking seconds_.

“Who’s Peggy?”

“Steve’s girlfriend,” Tony blurted, because he couldn’t shut up either.

Twisting his head to the side, Steve took a very threatening step towards Tony. Yes, never mentioning Peggy Carter again would be in the best interests of Tony living a long and happy life. 

“Don’t talk about things you don’t understand,” Steve growled.

Right, Steve was going into rut. Chances were very high Tony was going to die. Right now. Wonderful, not how he wanted to go. Though Pepper always said his mouth was going to be the death of him. She’d be so thrilled to know she was right.

“Stevie,” Tony pleaded, “Come on now…”

Natasha slipped between them, hand pressing against Steve’s chest.

“It’s Tony. He’s an idiot. Take a breath.”

Out of nowhere, Barnes pressed between Natasha and Steve. Tony hadn’t even seen him slip past him, down the stairs. The metal shoulder pressed into Steve’s chest, forcing the angry Alpha to back up as Barnes moved to the railing and leaned over it, for all intents and purposes looking like he was only checking the lower landing. Yet even Tony could see how Steve’s focus switched so completely from the argument to the other Omega. There was no way Barnes didn’t know it as well, wasn’t aware of Steve’s attention on Barnes, his nostrils flaring and his body tilting unconsciously to find more of Barnes’ scent. 

It was one thing to know they were compatible, or that Steve really liked Barnes. It was something else entirely to see him be so completely distracted by something as simple as brief physical contact. And Barnes knew exactly the effect he had, the pull he had on the Alpha in their midst. This, however, was the first time he’d used that...and for what? To distract Steve from his rising temper? To keep him from lashing out?

Why, if he wasn’t interested in Steve as well?

Steve drew in a ragged breath, coming back to himself all at once. He looked from Barnes to Tony, and back again before lowering his head to let out a long, slow breath. Lifting a hand, he ran it through his short hair, messing it unmercifully. It was already a wreck as it was, but now there was certainly no saving it. It was ridiculously charming.

Quietly, Steve checked his phone, confirmed the location of terminal SU3012, and returned to the door. Glancing back, he waited for them to resume formation before opening the lock and slipping through. Natasha followed at his back, moving before Tony could, and taking his position. Irritating though it was, Tony understood. Steve needed a minute away from him.

Glancing at Barnes, he murmured, “Thanks.”

The Omega just looked at him, then away again. Asshole.

“Clear,” Natasha and Steve called from the other side of the stairwell door. 

Tony and Bucky slipped through the door. Ahead of them spread row upon row of hip-high desks, a single monitor perched on each. Beside each monitor was a hand-held scanner in a holder, like the ones used in supermarkets to scan barcodes. The desks glowed pale green in the NVGs, monitors black and dead. Low cubicle walls had been set up to group the desks in sets, creating artificial aisles and corridors and blocking line of sight from one end to the other. Printer stations were set up, the aisles funneling people towards them. The printers themselves were large, bulky, the kind that could easily handle printing reams of paper at a time. 

It was a shockingly large space, but that wasn’t what froze Tony in his tracks. Scattered over desks, between them, in the aisles, and even on several monitors and printers, were jackets, pants, shoes, and blouses. They were haphazardly discarded, thrown, ripped, tossed and left where they fell. From where he stood, Tony could see a gorgeous pair of high heels tilted on their side in the middle of the nearest aisle. Beside them was a pair of black slacks crumpled along with a white lab coat. Everywhere he looked was a similar scene.

Hundreds of articles of clothing. More.

“Sir,” JARVIS said calmly, “My scanners are indicating this floors atmosphere contains six percent butane. Likeliest cause is a breach in one of the lines leading to the labs, or refrigeration units. I would recommend you inform Captain Rogers that the discharge of a weapon on this particular floor would be hazardous to everyone’s health.”

“Right,” Tony said, “Cap, JARVIS says there’s been a malfunction somewhere on this floor and butane is filling the place. Not enough that you all are in danger of asphyxiation, but any of you fire your weapons, and kablooey.”

“Is that the technical term?” Natasha asked.

“You betcha,” Tony grinned.

“Understood,” Steve said. “Weapons up everyone”

The moment Barnes let go of his rifle, he stretched out the fingers of his metal hand and Tony was instantly captivated. He could see the way the artificial digits gleamed, the paleness of the mental underlined by the blackness of the man’s fingerless gloves. The moment his fingers reached the full stretch, Tony could hear a slight whine that suggested a buildup of energy. Buildup that his sensors weren’t picking up. The shielding on that arm had to be freaking awesome. Tony really, really wanted to take it apart. Really. He could make it so much better.

“Hey, Barnes,” Tony said conversationally, “You know, that’s some really nifty tech you got there. Should let me take a look at it some time. Bet I can make some improvements.”

The Terminator just gave him a look. It wasn’t nearly as good as Natasha’s.

“Seriously. I’m a genius, you know. Engineering is kind of my thing. What’s it run on, anyways?”

The look remained blank.

“You know, power source? Is it built in? Gotta be built in, unless they put a separate power source inside you. That seems a little too dangerous, though, even for Hydra. You like lasers? Bet I could install laser guns in it. Maybe just a regular gun. Oooh, maybe a rocket launcher. I like rocket launchers. Steve thinks they’re messy. He didn’t let me bring any missiles.”

Finally Barnes’ expression changed, turning thoughtful.

“I like rocket launchers,” he admitted, shaking his head, though there was a small, wry smile on his lips.

“Of course you do,” Steve muttered. “Form a line. We’ll sweep from one end to the other. Natasha, take the center aisle, Bucky, left side of the room, I’ll take the right. Tony… You know, there’s actually enough room in here for you to fly. Will your repulsors set off the butane?”

“‘Fraid so,” Tony confirmed. 

Steve sighed.

“Nothing can go easily. Follow Natasha, tell her where to go. If we get attacked...punch things.”

“Copy,” Barnes and Natasha chorused.

“Punch things?” Tony repeated, falling into line anyways. “Seriously?”

“No, I’d rather you stick your head in the sand and pray. Better yet, blow up the whole room. That’ll go well.”

“Okay, Captain Sass-Master. Chill.”

“Steve has no chill,” Natasha quoted.

“None whatsoever,” Barnes agreed, while looking distracted. 

“Very funny,” Steve muttered.

Their progress was slow, thanks to the desks and cubicle walls. Tony could literally see the terminal they were looking for in the center of the room. Not that that mattered, since he couldn’t get to it. They crept closer, Barnes and Steve clearing each little section while Natasha swept the aisles.

Finally, they got to the terminal, but Tony still had to wait for the team to clear the section. Only then did Steve give him a nod, motioning Natasha to continue forward. From its compartment, Tony pulled the cable that could hook him into the computer’s hard drive. He bent over to plug it in.

Barnes started to say, “Do you hear,” and the lights came on.

Instantly, bright, white light filled his display screens. JARVIS dimmed them as fast as he could, but spots were dancing before Tony’s eyes. From his right, he heard Steve shout in pain, nearly drowning out Natasha’s and Barnes’ grunts. 

Shaking his head hard, Tony tried to clear his vision while squinting at the suddenly-bright screens. Something blurry was moving ahead. Something to his right. Something knocked over the bright blue blouse on the desk to Natasha’s left.

“We’re under attack!” Barnes shouted.

Steve cursed, and Natasha screamed in pain.

“Nat!” Steve shouted.

The blurry shapes resolved into dozens of hellhounds, streaming around the desks, over them, jumping into the aisles and surrounding Steve, Natasha and Barnes. They were no longer attempting to be silent, growling and howling, yelping when Barnes’ metal fist connected with one’s jaw and sent it flying halfway across the room. The Sergeant spun around, his foot lashing out to take another beast down, even as the third was flying through the air, aiming right for his throat.

There were so many, bodies teaming and frothing like sea waves. The beasts were literally scrambling over themselves to get to their targets. 

And completely ignoring Tony.

Without his weapons, Tony could only march forward and hurl one of the beasts away as he tried to get to Natasha, now fighting on top of a desk. Her leg was bleeding, a tear in the black catsuit visible even from several feet away. They came at her from all sides, and she wasn’t nearly as devastating as Barnes with his mechanical arm. She was holding her own, sure, but there were so damn many.

Throwing another hellhound aside, Tony kicked one in the chest hard enough that its ribs crumpled inwards, and it glanced toward Steve. The Captain was using the shield as a blunt instrument, heaving the beasts back with it, while wielding a knife in his other hand to slash at the encroaching creatures. One went down with its throat cut, but two took its place. 

Tony kept grabbing the hounds ignoring him, breaking bones and crushing skulls as he flung them away, but it was useless. For every one he took down, two or three more poured into the room. A veritable wave of them ascended from the stairs they had just left, and he still hadn’t gotten to Natasha.

“Okay,” Tony said firmly, “I have a plan and no one is going to like it, so you’re not getting a choice in the matter.”

“What’s the plan?” Steve asked, his voice tight with pain. 

“When I say so, drop to the floor. Nat, you gotta jump to me, okay?”

“We’re gonna die,” Natasha said breathlessly.

“Natasha Romanova, how dare you not have faith in me. I thought we had that whole fake relationship going on. Don’t wuss out on me now, pookie-bear.”

Natasha laughed, kicked a leaping hellhound in the face, and launched herself off her desk to the next. Watching her, timing her jumps, he held his breath and then held out his arms. Without any hesitation, because she was just as damned crazy as Steve, she jumped a cubicle wall and collided with his chest.

“Now!” Tony shouted.

Grabbing her in a bear hug, he dropped to the floor, crushing her beneath him and fired a repulsor into the nearest hellhound’s face. Fire exploded around them, ripping through the room. The hellhounds _screamed_ as they burned and were flung about, drowning out any sound of pain Steve or Barnes might have made.

What Tony didn’t expect was the second, then third explosion that raced through the room. The shockwave caused his HUDs to flicker. Natasha cried out underneath him, her body thrashing.

“JARVIS, scan,” he shouted.

The HUD lit up, flashing red and yellow as schematics were placed over others. He saw his mistake immediately. The explosion hadn’t been limited only to this room. There were additional gas pipes in the walls, some kind of later addition that must not have been up to code. The first explosion would have damaged the piping, causing a series of smaller explosions. 

Smoke was rapidly filling the air, and Nat wasn’t screaming anymore, her face red and lips open, gasping for breath. The fire was taking the oxygen in the room. She literally didn't have anything to breathe with, unlike him and his closed airflow system. He had to get her out of here.

There was a whirr and hiss, and water began pouring down from the ceiling as the fire suppression system kicked in. It was far too little, too late to help with their current breathing situation. Potentially, it was too late for the fire situation as well, though Tony prayed that wasn’t the case. If the building collapsed, they were far too far down to safely get out again.

Rolling to the side and taking Natasha with him, Tony tucked her under his arm and fired off his repulsors. A blast from his hand and he was soaring over the floor towards the stairwell he knew was close. JARVIS’ sensors beeped and blared, homing in on Steve curled on the floor underneath his shield. Veering to the left, he freed one of his hands from Natasha’s limp body and grabbed the first thing he could, which turned out to be Steve’s backpack. 

They crashed through a cubicle wall and several desks as Tony used his own armored head as a battering ram. Printers and hellhound bodies went flying about him until he finally cleared the office space. With only a few feet between him and the door and no way to stop, Tony powered down the repulsors and curled his body forward to protect his two burdens. Hitting just to the right of the doorframe, his head rang from the impact even as he threw Steve bodily onto the landing. Shifting his grip on Natasha, he threw her right after.

That just left Barnes.

“JARVIS!” Tony shouted. “Find me Barnes!”

“I’m afraid the fire is too hot, sir,” JARVIS answered. “Any heat signature is covered by the flames.”

“Fine,” Tony huffed, rising into the air, “we’ll just do this the old-fashioned way.”

The moment Tony flew back toward the fire, there was a fourth explosion, larger than the others. The shockwave launched him sideways, even as a good portion of the ceiling caved into the center of the room. It took all his concentration to flip in midair, diving out of the way of the slabs of concrete that rained down once the structural integrity of the ceiling collapsed. He fetched up in the hallway, barely avoiding slamming into the wall this time, and felt his heart drop to his feet at the sound of a heavy door slamming shut behind him. 

Spinning in midair, he saw Steve, burned and sooty, bent over and gasping with his palm on the security lock.

“Barnes…” Tony said, trailing off as several hard thumps came from the other side of the heavy door. After another hard thump, the door aquired a large dent as something heavy hit it hard enough to warp the steel.

“Steve… We can’t… We can’t leave him in there.”

Steve’s face twisted terribly, his lips pulling into a bitter shape Tony had never seen before. Clenching his jaw, he looked deliberately from the door. 

“Nat’s bleeding out.”

Following Steve’s gaze, Tony saw Natasha sitting on the ground, propped against the wall. Both her hands were clenched tightly around her thigh where a twisted piece of metal had pierced her leg. Her delicate, beautiful face was pale and her dark hair contrasted with it sharply. At her feet, spreading around her legs, was a pool of blood. A pool that was spreading far too fast for his liking.

“There’s a medical station two floors down,” Tony said quickly.

Steve nodded, pulling himself to his feet. Though Tony would have thought him shaky, he walked deliberately to Natasha and scooped her into his arms. When she didn’t protest, he knew it was really bad.

“Lead the way,” Steve ordered. “Kill every single one of those fucking things you see.”

“Yes, sir,” Tony said darkly.

Then he turned and stepped down the first flight of stairs, his suit lighting the way.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a huge effort to write. Why so much action, why?!

The first explosion had thrown Bucky off his feet, straight into the hellhound behind him. Acting on instinct honed by a century of combat experience, Bucky had grabbed the vicious creature and rolled so it was on top of him, serving as a meatshield. It whined and screamed as the second explosion rocked the room, the flames scorching it, and filling Bucky’s nose with the stench of burning flesh. 

Maybe it was the agony of the fire, maybe it was that Bucky relaxed his grip on the hound, but the next thing he knew, the beast had gained traction. Rolling onto its massive paws, its jaws clenched firmly over his mechanical arm, and it tossed its head. Bucky went flying, the hellhound throwing him like a ragdoll. He tried twisting, turning his feet midair to point at whatever he was going to land on, but then a the third explosion rocked the building. Bucky spun, thrown by the blast as if he weighed nothing, and crashed into a wall. 

Fortunately, it wasn’t the reinforced concrete or steel they’d encountered so far on the sub-floors. The flimsy partition wall caved in with a groan of plywood and plaster, not standing a chance against his weight and momentum. He landed on his back in a pile of debris, ears ringing from the explosion and dizzy from lack of oxygen. 

Unfortunately, Bucky wasn’t the only one who ended up thrown through the wall. Two hounds had crashed through as well, but they hadn’t fared as well as he. One was dead, its neck twisted at an unnatural angle, half-burned, its blackened tongue hanging out. The other had broken its back, the massive back legs lying twisted behind it. The injury didn’t phase the beast as it growled and snapped, dragging itself towards him on its front legs. 

With his vision still blurry, Bucky rolled to his side and pulled a knife from his chest sheath. Lunging forward along the ground, he drove the blade through the hound’s eye. Before he could jerk the blade free, another beast leapt through the hole in the wall, barely singed, and landed on Bucky’s back. A sickly, burning pain exploded all along his left side as its rows of fangs clamped down on his shoulder. Bucky screamed as the fangs easily broke through his armored jacket and tore through his skin. The metal of his shoulder was all that stopped it from sinking deeper, from tearing into muscle, and from the way the metal groaned, shattering bone.

Snarling and rolling over, Bucky forced the beast to let go as he twisted, ripping himself free of the jaws. Pain seared through his shoulder, and Bucky himself snarled as he continued twisting, placing both feet on the hound’s belly to kick it away from him. The beast howled as it flew, ribs likely breaking with the force, but it immediately rose up again after crashing through a set of metal shelves.

Distantly, Bucky noted he had ended up in a supply closet, but he ignored that and the pain in his side. Using his metal arm to propel himself up onto his feet, he darted after the beast. Growling, it tried to dodge away from him, but Bucky was faster. The metal hand grabbed ahold of its jaw and yanked, ripping the whole lower part of its head off. The hound squealed, blood splashing everywhere. As it convulsed, Bucky had enough time to reach for the rifle slung on his back to shoot it once between its eyes.

Only one bullet, since he could hear, sense, more of the hellhounds coming toward the hole in the wall. The fire, the explosion, the probable death of dozens of their own kind, and they weren’t stopping. Bucky was going to need every bullet he had brought.

Looking around, he confirmed he was in a supply closet. It was long, shelves stretching out along the back wall. The hole he’d entered was to his immediate right, as were the two holes the hellhounds had made joining him. There was a door to the right of him, leading back into the main fire-drenched room, but there was another door to the left of him. 

Taking his chance on the second door, Bucky bolted for it just as two more hellhounds squeezed through the hole in the wall and came after him. Though he was fighting down pain and dizziness, Bucky couldn’t escape the godforsaken whispering. The sounds were sharp, and somehow, strangely directed at him.

Another explosion sent Bucky to his knees, forcing him to catch himself on the nearest shelf. The ringing in his ears intensified, drowning out the whispers for a blessed moment. Then it faded, and there was an ominous, dry cracking from above him. Pushing himself back to his feet to start running, Bucky chanced a glance upward, only to see large cracks appearing in the ceiling.

With a curse Bucky didn’t have time to voice, he launched himself at the door. Thankfully, it opened from the inside without a security code, and he rolled over a corner desk just as a crash behind him signaled something large and heavy falling where he had stood just a heartbeat before. Glancing back, he saw the two hounds chasing him crushed beneath a slab of concrete. Hopefully it was not a supporting beam for anything important, or he was going to have more problems than just hellhounds, fire, a lack of oxygen. Also not knowing where he was, or where his team was.

Rogers’ team. Not his team.

Bucky needed to get back to the staircase, the most obvious place to reconnect with the others. He remembered three pairs of doors in the large office space that had contained the now-likely mulched terminal. All of those doors were protected by security systems, if the keypads besides the doors had meant anything. Hopefully, that meant there were hallways behind those doors. If there were hallways, there could be a way for him to circle back to the staircase without having to traverse the main room itself.

Glancing around to reorient himself, he found he was leaning against a large mahogany table in what appeared to be a conference room. Or office. There was a desk on the other end of the room, a couple of paintings on the wall, and a projector that was now shattered on the floor near the hellhounds. Bucky hadn’t kept up on what people put in office spaces these days and it didn’t really matter what the room’s purpose had once been. What mattered, was that one of the walls was glass and behind it there was another empty corridor beyond. 

For the moment, the whispers had died down. It made him feel safer, but Bucky knew that was just an illusion. The hellhounds were still out there, still giving chase, and who knew what the fuck kind of damage Stark had done to the building. He was grateful for the silence anyway. 

Using his metal elbow, Bucky smashed through the glass and jumped the waist-high partition. His boots landed with a crunch on the glass-covered carpet, and he set off in the direction he thought would take him back toward the stairs. 

“Anyone make it out of there?” Bucky asked, but the silence continued. No word from the comms, no sound of anyone moving through the building either. Then again, the sound of debris still falling from the main room, the fire burning, and the water from the sprinkler system would have covered a lot of noise the team would have made. If they’d made it at all.

Bucky tapped the comm unit in his ear and it screeched. Ripping it out, he stared at the unit and then dropped it to the floor. The explosion, the fall, or something else must have damaged the thing. If Rogers and the others had survived and somehow escaped, his best bet was the find them at the stairs.

Somewhere, something crashed heavily, and Bucky picked up his pace. The hallway twisted to the right and he heard the whispering start up just as another crash heralded the arrival of the hellhounds before he even saw them. There were three of them, big and half-burned, shadows from the fire flickering against their pale, mottled skin. The one in the front was more massive than the other two, front paws bent outwards and jaw forced open from the misshapen teeth lining its jaw. 

Cursing, Bucky raised his rifle and unloaded into the first hellhound while the other two immediately sprang to opposite sides of the corridor out of the line of fire. Then they ran towards him, but it was impossible to shoot the others while still trying to down the largest of the trio. So far it had taken several bullets, and it was still moving, large leaps forward so Bucky’s bullets only struck its chest and underbelly. Without a head shot, the beasts didn’t stay down, plowing through, despite pain and blood loss. 

By the time Bucky got off a good shot, taking the giant hellhound through the eye, the other two were on him. Lunging from both sides, one went low, aiming for his legs. The other went high, jaws gaping wide to quite literally take off his head. There was no chance he could avoid both. With only a second to decide which was the greater threat, Bucky chose the one going for his head. Swinging, he delivered a close-fisted blow with his metal arm to the lucky winner, and caved the skull inwards with a sickening crunch. 

There was no time to gloat over the easy victory. The inert body of the dead hellhound slammed into his side at the same time as the remaining hound clamped its jaws down on his ankle. The poison-tipped fangs screeched against the knives Bucky had hidden in the tall boots, saving him from a bite and a broken bone. 

It didn’t stop the thing from shaking its head, knocking Bucky off his feet. As he fell, Bucky shoved the weight of the dead hound off him, but couldn’t control his landing, not when the hound trying to take his foot with it. It shook again, jarring Bucky’s entire body so he crashed roughly to the floor. The hound growled viciously, snarling and jerking his head from side to side, wrenching Bucky’s whole leg. Something popped in his hip, almost as loud the sound one of his knives made as it cracked under the pressure of the hound's jaws.

Almost nauseous from the sudden, wrenching pain in his hip, the once-more aggravated throbbing of his shoulder, Bucky had to force himself to move. Pushing out the little air in his lungs, he yanked himself into a sitting position. Without any other weapon available to him, Bucky used the one weapon he couldn't lose. He slammed his metal fist into the hound’s head.

The angle was off, his position weakening the blow. It yelped and flinched, but didn't let go of him. The jaws remained latched tight, even as one of its eyes busted under the force of Bucky’s punch. 

The hound jerked again, powerful body twisting with the effort. It pulled so hard, Bucky was sure his hip dislocated; eye-watering pain shooting through his pelvis as it popped again. The force dragged him several feet along the carpeted hall, sending agony through his injured joint. Clenching his teeth on a scream, Bucky hauled his arm back, fist clenched, and hit the hound again and again. The third blow fractured the beast’s thick skull and it slumped dead, jaws still locked around Bucky’s leg. 

Though pain lanced through his limb, the only way to get free was to contort himself, half-curling forward, and forcing the jaws apart with his metal hand. When he came free, he gasped for air and stared at his foot. There was no blood, only a few tears in the leather, the reinforced combat boot having served its purpose. With help from his knives, he hadn’t lost part of his leg completely.

Panting though the pain, Bucky tried to gather his wits and figure out what he had to do next. He had managed to avoid getting ripped open any further, but he had lost another knife to this attack. He didn’t have an unlimited supply, and, to make matters worse, he had used at least half his clip. He now also needed to set his hip, and that was not going to be fun. 

Resigned to the immediate course of action, Bucky unbuckled his belt and pulled it from the pants’ loops. The faster he dealt with his hip, the faster he would be up and moving again. Hoping he would get lucky, he tried moving his leg. Luck was not on his side today. It barely twitched.

With a sigh, he looked around for something to attach the belt to and found a set of pipes running down the wall a few feet away. They disappeared into the floor, possibly part of the system that had malfunctioned and caused the butane leak. To use them, though, he first had to get there, and that was going to be even less fun that resetting his hip. Even though it was just a few feet, he couldn’t crawl to the pipes in a straight line because of the hellhound carcassess. 

It could have been worse, he thought grimly. Pain wasn’t anything new. Bucky knew it intimately, his whole being conditioned to accept any pain, to meet it head on. Pain was a part of his life, now and forever.

Forcibly slowing down his heartbeat, Bucky dissociated from his body as much as he could. It wouldn’t be utterly painless, but he wouldn’t feel the worst of it as he crawled on his hands, dragging his legs behind him to the exposed pipes. Looping the heavy leather over the steel, he buckled the belt together, creating a loop. Then he twisted, creating a smaller hoop. 

Contorting himself again, Bucky got the foot of his bad leg in the hoop. Panting from the pain he could feel and the exertion, Bucky lay back on the floor calmed his breathing. Now would come the worst of it. Turning himself over, he began crawling back the way he had come. The belt quickly became tight, pulling at his dislocated leg. 

Bucky had to resist the urge to speed up the process. This wasn’t like in the movies, when one hard slam would make everything hunky-dory again. There was serious risk of nerve damage if done wrong. Bucky could heal any damage acquired that way, but it wasn’t a good idea to make himself immobile if he could avoid it. 

Pulling a little more, Bucky kept the pressure steady. Focusing on the feeling of the head of his femur pulling away from the side of the joint, he kept moving to the other side, letting it shift and pull at his muscles until it abruptly aligned. Taking as deep a breath as the atmosphere allowed, he carefully shifted back and simply allowed the joint come together itself.

Moving his leg experimentally, Bucky grinned. Distantly he could tell it still hurt, but it was fully mobile again. Sitting up with a sigh, he freed his leg from the belt, then the belt from the pipe to loop it back again his waist. 

Now that he could run if he needed, Bucky bent forward and took stock of the knives in his boot. One came free from its sheath undamaged, but pulling on the other revealed a shattered blade, the tip and half the length still in the sheath. Sighing, he went to toss the blade aside and hesitated. Eyeing a tear in the leather shoe, he ended up shoving the broken handle and blade back into his boot. If another of the monsters got his ankle, it could save his foot again.

Carefully getting back to his feet, Bucky walked to the battered-down doorway. Peering from the hall, he found the main room in shambles. The desks were mostly buried under mounds of concrete, tile, and twisted metal. To his surprise, there was still a ceiling above him, the steel floor of the second sub-floor gleaming in the fading flickering fires. The explosion had ripped into it here and there, but it was mostly intact, holding the building together despite the supports being torn away. 

Hellhound corpses littered the floor, lying broken in dirty puddles. The only light came from the hall Bucky stood in, as well as the fires that guttered in the spray of the few functioning sprinklers. Thankfully, the fire prevention system was doing its job, keeping the entire building from going up and then falling down around him.

As he made his way carefully through the torn-up room, his boots crunching over broken glass and shattered furniture, something white caught his eye. He crouched down, his hip twinging in protest. The joint felt hot, meaning it was healing all right, but soft tissue damage was always harder to heal than bones. He had no idea why, only that it was true. 

The white item turned out to be a broken keycard. Burned and half-melted, it was completely useless. Regretting it was so damaged, he dropped the card, the bright purple lanyard at the end slipping through his fingers.

One problem eliminated then.

Eyeing the nearest hellhound corpse for movement, Bucky slipped quietly from the hall toward the stairs. The door was shut, the keypad gleaming in the firelight, but surely Rogers wouldn’t have locked him in…

Bucky tested the door handle and cursed silently when there was no give. The bastards had left him. Locked him in with the fire and the beasts, and the lack of oxygen. They’d left him to die. Something ugly twisted in Bucky’s stomach at the realization, his hand clenching so hard on the door handle it warped with a wrenching groan. 

Without his permission, he had started to believe Rogers was different. God, he was a fucking fool. No wonder Hydra had had such a good run with him, he never fucking learned. 

With a snarl, Bucky ripped the whole handle away and threw it at the opposite wall with all his strength. Vicious, boiling anger rose up in his chest, burning his throat and almost choking him. He screamed, grabbing the nearest object to hand - part of a warped chair - and threw it at the nearest wall. Snatching up an empty drawer, he flung it after the chair, denting the sooty and cracked wall. 

How dare they! How _dare_ they leave him like this! 

The rage was all-consuming as he screamed, reaching for whatever he could find in nearby and lobbing it at the wall. The way the debris cracked and shattered against the wall was satisfying, soothing the rage and spurring him on. Bucky had no idea how long he wreaked havoc on the room, but eventually the burning of his arm and back pierced through his haze. He became aware of the way he was panting, of sweat and water dripping down his nose, down his neck, stinging his cuts and scrapes.

Bucky was tired. So very tired of fighting, of people, of all the _lies_. He had just thought that maybe this time, things was different.

He was such an idiot to believe the Alpha’s pretty words. He couldn’t even tell who was worse, the damned Alphas with their entitled attitudes and inborn fucking assholery, or him. So stupid and pathetic with his need for a cock, for a knot, that he offered himself on a silver platter to the first Alpha to look his way with a pretty smile. 

Whatever happened from here on out would be his own damned fault, his responsibility, because he _should have known better_.

Taking a breath, Bucky forced himself to focus on the problem of survival for the moment. He looked around the destruction, the far doors on the other side of the wrecked room, and let himself gloat. There was one thing he hadn’t told Rogers, hadn’t told anyone. There had been a fourth trip into the Three Sisters, once more than he had admitted to. A little tidbit he had kept to himself, intel that might not have even been viable any more, but it was all he had to get out of this alive.

During the height of the Cold War, when paranoia ran rampant among the leaders on both sides, a General Davis had commanded the complex for fifteen years. In that time, that general had become obsessed with ensuring he had escape routes in the eventuality that the Three Sisters was ever taken over by the Russians. Personally, Bucky thought the general was simply claustrophobic. Protecting and living in a mostly underground base had not helped Davis’ phobia. 

Unknown to his superiors, Davis had had an escape corridor built into each of the sub-level floors. It inched its way upward, spiralling around each building, coming close to each of the underground floors in a single location. It wasn’t officially connected to any of the floors, wasn’t on any official plans. No inspection would have ever found it, but it was separated from the building by less than four feet of earth. If one knew where to put it, one shaped charge would open a perfect way out of this god-forsaken place and into the woods above. Bucky only knew where because after three failures to infiltrate the complex, he’d been sent to get any information on the place from Davis himself. It had taken some work, the man hadn’t been easy to crack, but as Hydra had taught him personally, everyone broke when you hurt them enough. There was no such thing as resisting sustained torture. Everyone broke. Everyone.

Assuming the escape corridor was still there, Bucky could use it a second time to leave this place. Running his fingers over the pouches at his waist, Bucky counted four charges sitting there ready and waiting for use. He could get out of here, leave, and take the Quinjet before the nuke arrived. Rogers and his team would have no ride out, but why shouldn’t he leave them to die when they’d done the same to him? 

So what if they were likely hurt by Stark’s foolish actions? Bucky was battered himself, burned and singed around the edges. His shoulder still throbbed fiercely, his arm a dull ache, as was his hip. Rogers would rally them, get them to the tenth sub-floor and deal with Clarkson. He’d save the world. They were ‘the Avengers’. They didn’t need him.

Bucky placed his hand on the large dent in the door, not knowing why he suddenly needed to swallow. They had been chased off the floor, he could see that. They hadn’t had to lock him in, though. Hadn’t needed to seal themselves away behind something even he couldn’t batter through. They couldn’t have been injured enough that they couldn’t fight off the few hounds that had survived the explosion. There had only been three.

Unless Stark’s suit had malfunctioned and he’d died, or Romanova was trapped under the debris. Bucky turned, looking back at the rubble and searching for anything that moved. Just the flame, just the water and blood, a few wires dangling and swaying from the ceiling.

Bucky hit his head on the door.

He was an idiot. An incurable, fucking idiot, because he was going do it. He was going to believe that Rogers hadn’t just sacrificed him, hadn’t made him a decoy to save his teammates. He would trust - conditionally, he assured himself - that they hadn’t meant to lock him in or leave him to die. This one last time, he would believe.

Maybe, they might even need him to help.

Bucky needed to think, to plan. They couldn’t have moved up; there was nothing there of any strategic value, no Clarkson, nor medical supplies if one of them was hurt. They had to have gone down. Bucky needed to follow.

The stairs were out; he had enough injuries that he didn’t need to fight the security system on top of everything else. That left the elevator shaft and escape tunnel as his only ways down. The latter was the fastest option, but he couldn’t know where Rogers and the others had stopped. With only four charges, he could get in, but he could only get out three times, and that would use up all of his explosives. On top of that, he didn’t have any tech to tell him if blowing up the wall would be safe or if it would only land him in a bigger nest of hellhounds.

The elevator shaft was the easier, and better, choice. For security reasons, the elevator shafts only connected to a few floors. Throughout the entire building, there would be four or five separate shafts. Most likely, Bucky could find a manual override since there were less security measures present than in the staircases that traversed the building from top to bottom.

From what he remembered of the floor plan, the elevators were in the north side of the base. That meant he needed to go through the door to the left, across from the one he’d just come in. For whatever reason, the lock on it seemed to be inactive, the numeric pad dark.

To get to the hallway, Bucky had to circle all the rubble. By the time he reached the door, he was completely soaked by the sprinklers, his hair falling in wet, lank strips across his face, sticking to his cheeks and the back of his neck. The cold water made him sigh with relief, though, as the constant heat under his skin finally lessened. 

Pushing aside a large block of concrete with steel bars sticking out the sides, Bucky was able to get to the door and pull it open. The hall on the other side was much like the one in which he’d encountered the hellhounds. Long fluorescent tubes ran parallel to the hall along the ceiling, illuminating the dark blue and green patterned carpet. The walls were bare cream plaster, turning to the right as they led, hopefully, to where he wanted to go. 

As he passed the multitude of closed doors, Bucky saw no further signs of the hounds. It was worrying and eerie just as the droves of hellhounds just minutes before had been terrifying. Where had they come from? Where had they gone? It was unnerving as hell, not to mention frustrating. Fighting an enemy that appeared out of nowhere was a nightmare. 

One foot in the air, Bucky stopped, staring at a security lock and remembering the damaged keycard he had seen in the main room. It must have been left in one of the desks that had been thrown about in the explosion. If there was one there, there might be one in another desk, or the office he had passed through running from the hellhounds. He looked back at the rows of closed doors and sighed. It would be hell, searching all those rooms. He couldn’t even be sure they were offices, but only Rogers and Romanova knew the access codes and they hadn’t deigned to share.

With another sigh, he turned to the first room. 

It took searching three offices, top to bottom, before he found a card in a drawer filled half-to-bursting with candy bars and empty wrappings. He didn’t even see it at first. Just stopped to grab himself something to eat. He was hungry and whoever had provided equipment for this mission hadn’t taken into account his enhanced metabolism. Rogers and Romanova were eating the protein bars in the cafeteria, but he didn’t have any. The candy and other snacks he had found so far was keeping his metabolism going. Didn’t stop him from being hungry as hell, his body burning whatever it could while healing his injuries and fighting whatever disease he had acquired.

The white plastic square was practically covered by the wrappings, pushed to the back of the drawer. He fished it out with his flesh hand, the silk scarf still wrapped tightly about the wound that stung as badly as it had when he had first acquired it. Tucking the plastic into his pocket, he crunched down on the last candy bar and wished he had some water to wash it down with.

Back in the hall, Buck rounded the final bend in the corridor and was stopped by a simple glass paneled door without any security in sight. The glass was frosted with an ugly diamond pattern, the handle burnished steel. He pushed it open, leading with his rifle, but the hallway was as empty as the one he had left. More importantly, there, on the opposite wall, were the elevator doors he’d been searching for. Grinning, he went to the small security lock and pressed the plastic card to it. If it didn’t work, he would just need to force it and face whatever security there was, but he would prefer it didn’t come to that so soon.

The reader turned green, the down button lit up with a ding. There was no up button, suggesting this was the topmost floor for this elevator. Then he…waited, looking over his shoulder, eyeing the door he had come through. There was nothing but silence in the building again, no Stark to distract him, no scent of an Alpha to focus on. Nothing but his own heartbeat, the quiet whirr of his arm, and his own breathing. At this distance, he couldn’t even hear the water and fire from the damaged room.

This was maybe the strangest thing he had ever done. Gone into an underground base, full of whatever-the-hell pathogens in the air. The floor he was on was half blown up, he had been randomly attacked by things that looked an awful lot like the hellhound Stark accused them of being, and he was just standing and waiting for a lift to arrive. If it opened and there was elevator music, he would blow something up.

All he was doing now, though, was waiting. The lift wasn’t coming. No matter how much he strained his ears in the silence, there was nothing coming from behind the metal doors. If it continued, Bucky would have no choice but to force the doors. With or without the cabin, the very existence of the shaft itself was a way out of this floor for him. 

Bucky waited until more than enough time had passed for the green light to have summoned the cab. Then he rolled his shoulders, slung his rifle on his back, and pulled his metal arm back. The slight tremor that accompanied the arm powering up shuddered through the plates and he slammed his fist into between the two metal doors. The metal screeched horribly, but it gave, warping under the force of his blow and twisting inwards. Jerking his fist free of the mangled door, Bucky got a good grip on the edges with each hand and pushed. 

Once he overpowered the initial resistance, whatever machinery keeping the door closed failed. The halves opened up easily, showing him the dark shaft beyond. The light from the hall spilled inside, showing concrete and steel and the reason the elevator had never come. The wires were missing, the ones that ran the lift from floor to floor. They’d either been cut or something else had happened to cause them to malfunction. It didn’t matter, he was definitely climbing.

Shaking his head, Bucky swung himself into the empty shaft, easing around the door to the ladder along the wall. Climbing downward, he wondered if he should go to the next floor, or head all the way to the bottom. Rogers and the team would be taking the stairs, but security on the stairs required a palm print and a passcode, not just a card. He would have to meet them somewhere, and that meant knowing what floor they were stopping on. He would like an explanation about the reason for fucking leaving him locked up in that place. The only important floor he knew for certain was the tenth, on which they had assumed Dr. Clarkson would be. If he tried checking the stairs on each floor to see if they had blasted them open, Bucky would have greater chances of encountering the hellhounds.

The smartest course of action was to head all the way down, checking the stairs only when he was forced to change elevators. Hopefully, his card would work on the other shafts as well. If it didn’t, he’d have to go scrounging for more cards. At least that might give him a shot at some more food though.

God he was hungry.

The whispers hissed at him. Jerking his head up and around, the warning was far too late to matter. And it was a warning. Everytime he had heard the whispers, there had been hellhounds around. Every time they got louder, the bastards had attacked. Now was no different. A chunk of cement was falling from the doors he had pried open, straight toward his head.

Cursing, Bucky swung his body away from the plummeting stone, slamming his back against the shaft wall as he dodged. Swinging back, Bucky looked up to see yet more debris shoved into the shaft. Behind the steel bar, maybe a pipe, he caught the briefest glimpse of black bulging eyes and mottled skin. 

The hellhounds had known he would come here. They’d waited. Now they were forcing his hand again. 

Dodging the pipe, this time having to swing himself to the other side of the elevator, he grabbed the outer edges of the ladder and slid down. Combat boots squealed against the metal as he rapidly dropped through the floors. It was dangerous; the reason he hadn’t done this to begin with was that he could neither see the bottom of the shaft, nor had any way to know what was down there. The elevator cab, most likely, but _where_?

Another chunk of concrete dropped from above, connecting with Bucky’s shoulder. His flesh shoulder, jerking his arm from the ladder and sending a nauseating shock of pain down his spine. Unbalancing, he only held himself to the wall because his metal arm couldn’t be so easily jostled free of whatever he was holding onto. 

A moment later, Bucky’s boots thudded against the roof of the cab, jarring his knees, surprising him with its sudden appearance. Grunting, he dodged instinctively to his left as more steel-reinforced concrete rained down on the top of the lift. It was too dark here to see, but it wasn’t like the damned hounds had much to work with. For them it was like shooting a fish in a barrel, only this time he was the fish.

How hadn’t he heard them hauling all this crap to the shaft? How did they even figure out to drop things on him anyway? It required planning, preparation, _strategy_. If those were just animals, how in the hell did they manage to do all this?

Dropping to his knees, Bucky fumbled his hands over the top of the cab, groping for the trap door that maintenance workers would use to repair the elevators. His hands brushed what felt like miles of cable as something hard and metal slammed into his shoulders, ringing off the metal.

Crying out in pain, Bucky held his metal arm over his head to protect himself from whatever they pushed in next. Now with only one hand to work with, he felt the first burst of panic in his chest. He couldn’t see, could hardly tell what direction the things were falling in as they were merely black shapes blotting out the light before they were swallowed by the shadow of the floors above him. 

His flesh hand found more cable, something sharp, something large and square. The pulleys that lifted the elevator cab? Perhaps. He expanded his search outward, grunting as something incredibly heavy connected with his metal arm. It exploded, or crumbled, Bucky wasn’t sure. What he did know, was shards of stone or metal burst around him, raining down on his neck, head, and shoulders, scraping and bruising him all to hell. 

The edge of a square, set into the cab roof, caught his fingers and he nearly cried out in relief. Leaning forward, he had to drop his metal arm to get both hands on the edge and pull upward with everything he had. Metal screamed and wailed, light suddenly filling the shaft from the elevator’s interior. It invigorated him and he heaved, pulling harder and ripping, he realized, the entire shaft casing away instead of just the trap door.

Well, it had worked, so he wasn’t complaining.

Pushing the last of the metal back into place, Bucky shouted as something crashed across his shoulders again, his spine protesting as pain jolted straight through to his sternum, making it hard to breathe. There was something warm and sticky flowing down his forehead, dripping from his nose. Blood. He could smell it, even if he couldn't immediately tell what was bleeding.

Bucky tumbled through the hole he had created, far less graceful than he otherwise would have been as pain radiated from his back. On the way down, his arm caught along the torn open edge. The sound of cloth tearing was as loud in the empty lift, pain racing down his arm as he collapsed to the floor. His flesh arm was cut open almost from wrist to shoulder in a long, jagged wound. 

Crawling deeper into the cab under the flimsy shelter of whatever part of the roof he hadn’t ripped up, Bucky sought as much shelter as the cab could provide. He had just managed to curl his legs close to his chest when the thundering sound of more falling debris, bumping off the shaft walls, came from above. Pieces of concrete and rebar crashed into the cab, some falling inside the hole he had made for himself.

Then all was blissfully, blessfully silent again.

Exhaling in relief, Bucky reached up to wipe away the moisture he could feel on his face. The resulting mixture of soot, blood, sweat and water from sprinklers was disgusting and he quickly used his pants to clean it off as best as he could. His shoulder was burning where he’d been mauled just after the explosion, as was his hand and wrist from the attack before that. Looking at his arm, he could see the damage was worse than it had felt. Deep, long torn strips of flesh had been peeled away by the ragged metal he had passed through, and it was bleeding freely, staining the scarf Romanova had acquired. He would have removed the thing, but it was still providing some protection to the wound that wouldn’t heal. These new injuries would hopefully patch themselves closed in an hour or so. 

Unless the poison was in his blood, preventing all his injuries from healing. 

Bucky was starting to shiver, perhaps from the adrenaline than from the fever, or even from the poison itself. Most likely, it was a mix of all of the above. Bucky was tired. More tired than he should have been after this amount of physical exertion. The light had still been just as painful on his eyes when he had ripped open the hole into the black elevator shaft. The brightness dug into his brain, sharp shards of light caused pain that hadn’t lessened even as his eyes adjusted. 

Briefly, he hoped this floor wouldn’t have lights on.

Taking a breath, Bucky debated heading for the escape tunnel again and dismissed the thought. If he was in this bad a shape on his own, Rogers needed him. And the poison wasn’t in his blood; it couldn’t be or his hip would still be flaring with agony instead of a dull ache. His arm would heal, so long as he gave it time to do so.

Bucky lifted the security card to make the elevator doors open and froze with the white plastic in the air.

The card was all that had allowed him to get into the small elevator room. It unlocked the security measures and allowed him to force the door. He saw that the door had shut behind him. The door with the security lock someone else had bypassed. It hadn’t been Rogers, Bucky was sure of that. They had been together every moment, then apart for too little time for the man to escape down the stairs and open a side door.

So who had unlocked it? More importantly, who had unlocked the door to the elevator room? The hounds hadn’t broken through, as they had when he was trying to get back to the main room, he would have heard that. They had to be using the security system…somehow. Hiding from them. Using the closed doors and their assumption animals without thumbs couldn’t use an advanced, high tech system like the Three Sisters was equipped with.

How were they doing it? What else were they doing they had all assumed was impossible? Were they in the stairs? Could they get through _that_ keypad? If they could, they were in even more trouble than he thought they already were. 

Sighing, looked up at the hole in the lift. It was quiet above him, too quiet. He had a feeling that if he waited much longer, there would be more than just the debris falling down the shaft. Bucky really did not fancy fighting one of those mutated hounds in such a cramped space, especially as the beasts weren’t discouraged by pain. 

Unhooking his rifle, Bucky set it on the floor. Then he shrugged off his pack and stripped off the remainders of his tactical jacket. At this point, it was more of a hindrance than protection. The sleeve was hanging off, mostly strips barely clinging to his shoulder and back. It was also wet, cold, and full of debris he had acquired in the explosion. Not to mention it stank to high heaven. Still, he was sad to see it go. The jacket had ceramic plates covering his kidneys and torso. 

Now in just his tac vest, shirt, and pants, he pulled his pack back on and slung the strap of his rifle over his head again. Then he palmed the key card and pressed it to the card reader. The electronic device beeped and lit up green, and a moment later the door slid soundlessly open. 

A chill immediately filled the elevator cab. The floor beyond was a wide, empty corridor. Wider than the ones above, with a return to the metal floors, walls, and ceilings of the first two sub-floors. Carefully, Bucky stepped from the cab and swept his weapon from side to side. The corridor was similar to the one he’d entered before, closed off from the rest of the floor by several glass frosted doors with small security locks.

Bucky watched them, trying to see any movement beyond as he waited for the elevator doors to slide shut. They did with a soft _ding_ and he kicked the door at knee height, warping the metal. He kicked again, ensuring both panels were warped and incapable of opening on their own. Hopefully, it would stop anything that leapt after him down the shaft.

That taken care of, Bucky eyed the several doors along the hall. He had no way to know which floor he was on since he had fallen the rest of the way down the shaft and had not had a chance to count the exits. This floor was noticeably colder than the others, not that that was much to go on. He chose a door at random, swiping the card and grinning as it popped the lock open. 

The door opened on a corridor, lit brightly and not helping his headache any. He set off silently down the hall that ended a short distance away at a T-shaped intersection. Of course; nothing was ever simple. He hadn’t a clue where the next shaft was, either. 

Bucky went left.

He had barely taken three steps when the whispers started again. Stopping, Bucky turned about and headed to the right, away from the whispers. With each step, the whispers were getting stronger, louder. They were coming from both directions, left and right.

He stopped again.

“Fuck it,” Bucky muttered, turning around yet again. The sound had been quieter to the left. He was an incredible combatant, but even he couldn’t fight all the time. His back and arm needed time to heal, as did his hip. Just a little more time and he could take on the hellhounds again. Not in the numbers in which they had appeared so far, but in smaller groups.

He just needed time.

The corridor twisted and turned and broke to the left and right yet again. Bucky twisted his head, left, then right. The right was quiet, no whispers. It was possible it was a trap, Bucky knew that now. The damned things were smart enough to lull him into a false sense of security with the silence.

They would have to know he could hear them first.

Bucky went right.

The corridor continued on, twisting at random. Doors were few and far between, unlike the multitude of offices, labs, and storage rooms they had encountered so far. The floor didn’t warm up, either, his breath puffing in front of his face the deeper he delved into the maze. 

There was no sign of the stairs, no sign of the next elevator. He had to get down, to the last floor, and find Rogers. The problem was, he couldn’t fucking find his way down.

A left and the whispers started again, dry and rustling, like a forest on the cusp of winter. They were coming closer. Once again, it was coming from both directions, hemming him in. Neither direction was quieter, only louder. How many did that mean? He didn’t know. What he did know was that if he stayed where he was, he would have to fight, and he still didn't know where Rogers was. Bucky wasn't even sure where _he_ was in relation to the escape tunnel. Using up his ammo now without being sure it would be enough to get him to his goal would be foolish.

There had to be another way out.

Looking around, he saw no doors nearby, but he did notice the ceiling was different than on the other floors. He had thought it was the same metal as the first two sub-floors, but it wasn’t, now that he gave it a long look. It was suspended, the panels off-white and distinguishable from each other. 

A suspended ceiling meant a crawl space. See the fucking hellhounds get around _that_. 

Backing up to one wall, Bucky ran the short space between them and leapt. Muscles straining, hip protesting, he planted his feet against the wall, pushed, and twisted. Punching up with both hands, his injured flesh hand flaring with pain, he popped the ceiling tile away and caught the edge of the metal frame that held the tiles in place. It immediately twisted and crumpled under his weight. Landing on the steel floor, Bucky gasped, pushed away the pain and jumped again. This time, he had an idea of where to grab, and when his hands clasped the edge, it was of a support construction that kept the frame in place. 

Using the strength of the metal arm and giving the injured flesh one a bit of a rest, he gingerly eased his upper body inside the tight crawlspace. He knew he couldn’t put any weight on the ceiling tiles as they wouldn’t hold long enough to grab the next support strut. Spreading his legs to hook his feet over the struts, he tried pushing in deeper. 

And couldn't. There were dozens of pipes and thick cables inside, attached to the concrete ceiling in large clumps, spreading over the space like a spiderweb. Some of the pipes had caught on his backpack. Try as he might to get free, the pipes groaned and creaked over him dangerously. Frost coated them, suggesting they provided coolant somewhere. Likely they were responsible for the lowered temperature on the floor and he didn’t fancy having one of them burst open over his head.

With a curse and a sigh, Bucky dropped to the ground a second time. The whispers were deafening now, leaving him little doubt he was running out of time. He shrugged his backpack off, aware that he heard nothing besides the whispers. No claws on steel, no heavy paws. The hounds were deadly silent, as quiet as either himself or Romanova.

Kneeling down, Bucky opened the pack quickly, taking out all his spare clips. It was all he could reliably fit into his pockets and he would have to abandon the rest of his supplies. That didn’t mean he was going to leave it where the beasts could find it. Closing the pack up again, he threw it into the opening in the ceiling. The panels wouldn't hold him, but they would hold its weight.

For the third time, Bucky leapt from wall to wall, bursting into the ceiling again. He grabbed the support strut with his metal hand, muscle memory helping him pull himself in with a single, smooth movement. This time, when he stretched forward, he slid easily beneath the pipes. Nothing catching or tearing, as he crawled forward, twisting about in the dusty space so he could both reach the panel he’d originally pushed in, and set it carefully back into place. The damage to the ceiling frame was impossible to repair, but most predators didn’t look up when hunting and neither did humans. He hoped it would be overlooked at first glance.

The going was arduous. He had to keep only four points of contact with anything stable, constantly twisting and contorting to avoid the obstacles cluttering the crawlspace. It would make his progress even slower, but he would be able to find the stairs and elevator from up here. He would enact a simple grid pattern, starting from his bag, and eventually be able to continue making his way down. 

The darkness of the space eased the strain on his eyes considerably, the only light seeping in through the tiny holes in the ceiling tiles. Finally, his headache had eased and he felt a pang of sympathy towards Rogers as this had apparently been his first symptom, not his second. He shoved away any nervousness it caused him to have over multiple symptoms. 

Directly below him, the hellhounds began howling. The sound made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. It was like the rustling of dry leaves, eerie and hollow; no sound any animal in nature had ever made. How they had found him wasn’t clear, but found him they had. They couldn’t reach him though, and that was something, even though the fact they were pacing him below was more than a little unnerving. 

As he moved, the hounds kept up, jumping from time to time to try and reach him. They continued to howl, the sound interspersed with the whispers, which were more like screams now. Or maybe they were simply more defined, as if Bucky was on the cusp of understanding what was being said. Either way, it was almost satisfying how angry the hellhounds sounded. Almost. It was also incredibly creepy. Distracting, even, as they were a chorus from hades itself.

The sound, it turned out, wasn’t nearly the worst of what the beasts had in store for him.

Halfway between one support and the next, a large shape crashed through the ceiling a few feet before Bucky. More than a little startled, he backed up so he was crouching over only two supports and stared at the…thing before him. In the dim lighting, he couldn’t make out much more than it was human…ish. Red, bulging, glowing eyes in a face with an elongated, bulging jaw. It let out a dry, hollow, almost-roar, like an animal with its vocal cords severed. 

It shifted, long-fingered, clawed appendage moving, and Bucky braced for impact, thinking the…thing was reaching for him. Then he saw it. It had a _gun_ and enough of a human-shaped hand to have _thumbs_?. Bucky’s mouth dropped open as it lifted a _handgun_ , of all things, and fired.

Bucky twisted, his metal palm deflecting the bullet so it ricocheted away. It hit the large clump of pipes and cords to his left, and a sharply-smelling gas hissed out through the newly made hole. Adrenaline spiked through Bucky’s system. That had been too close. He had hardly had enough time to protect himself.

Whatever the gas was, when it reached them, both Bucky and the hound flinched. The pungent smell stung his nose and the vicious cold burned his skin. Bucky recovered first, lunging with his metal hand and clamping it around the thing’s neck. Fingers curling in, clenching with a whine of power, the metal pushed through skin, muscle, and cartilage bursting in his hand like butter. Letting out a roar of his own, Bucky yanked back and ripped the thing’s throat clean out.

Without a throat, the creature only gurgled as its hand spasmed, depressing the trigger uncontrollably. Gunfire punched through the ceiling tiles, brushed past his ear, and perforated more of the coolant pipes. The tight crawlspace was soon filling with freezing, stinging mist. The creature’s other hand clawed at Bucky, searching for purchase, and slicing through his already mangled arm. Bucky shouted in pain before it fell, crashing through the tiles, hopefully dead.

Bucky stared stupidly after it for a moment, shocked by its humanoid appearance. The thing had had a gun. A fully loaded handgun, if he had counted the shots right, and Bucky had _wasted_ it. Let it fall, right along with the corpse. Like a fucking amature.

God, he was so stupid.

Another crash ripped him from his self-recriminations, and black clawed hand clenched about his right foot. Bucky had a moment to notice the way the claws gleamed in the dim light, as though wet; the skin was mottled, same as the hellhounds, and it was distinctly, inescapably, a _human_ hand. Then it yanked, powerful strength in the single limb, and Bucky lost his precarious position on the support struts. With a crash, he slid onto the flimsy tiles and they buckled. Bucky fell amongst of shards of the broken plasterboard, the thing still holding tightly to his foot. Giving away its position. 

Midair, Bucky unholstered his Scorpion sub-machine gun from his thigh, and fired blindly at where the rest of the thing had to be. A burst of automatic fire ripped into the thing’s bulging, distorted, formerly human face, and his body crashed into the rest. It was dead, but that didn’t help him at all. 

The moment he hit the floor, the hounds bayed, the whispers shrieked, and the beasts converged on him. They were so damn eager to rip him apart, they stampeded over each other in their haste, black eyes burning red. Winded from his fall, Bucky wedged his metal arm in the jaws of the first one to reach him. It lunged for his face, met metal, and clamped down, black fangs screeching as they slid over the plating. The next darted in on Bucky’s right, avoiding the blow with the Scorpion he launched at its head, and bit down on his side. Fangs punctured his vest between ceramic plates, ripping into the flesh of his chest. Another one got a good grip on his flesh arm, jerking its head sharply and tearing long vicious gashes in his arm.

Bucky yelled, thrashing to dislodge the hellhound, and kicked a third one in its snout. His position on the floor and the hounds’ size was actually working in his favor. The beasts were snapping at each other, all wanting a piece of him, all willing to tear into their brethren to get it. They snarled and growled, making his ears ache with the sound. The one chomping on his chest let go abruptly, lunging at another hellhound muscling in on its kill. 

It was all the break Bucky needed. 

Dizzy with pain, noise, and the return on his headache, Bucky wrenched his metal arm free and rolled between the hellhound’s paws. It danced, confused and angry, squirming and turning to get in a position to bite and tear, but it wasn’t fast enough. Bucky brought his Scorpion around, fired a three round burst into the hound’s sternum, angled up so that the bullets would travel to the things head from the inside. 

Nearly two hundred pounds of dead meat collapsed atop Bucky and he let it, only rolling enough to ensure his arm wasn’t pinned down by the weight. Using the corpse to protect his flesh side, he rolled and fired at the beast returning for another bite of his side. It fell in a spray of blood, and he fired again and again. Each burst of fire dropped another body until there was enough space for Bucky to get to his knees, then to his feet.

Kicking a hellhound’s teeth in, Bucky jumped to plant his feet onto the back of the next one. The sloped, leathery body was strong and firm under his boots, a perfect platform for him to jump onto another. Using the way they crowded to his advantage, Bucky jumped from one to the next, like stepping stones.

Behind him, they surged, climbing atop and over and around each other as they howled and growled, making more of a ruckus than Bucky’s shooting. At the edge of the herd - crowd? Why was he even thinking about that? - Bucky leapt, rolled and bolted.

Pelting down the corridor with all his might, he didn’t glance back for a second. Claws scraped along steel as the hellhounds gave chase, baying and whining, and carrying on like something from a Victorian fox hunt. Unfortunately, he was the fox and the ‘forest’ he was being chased through wasn’t offering any avenues of escape. Returning to the ceiling was an option, but after needing three tries to get up there last time, he didn’t think it was the wisest of choices with monsters nipping at his heels.

Taking a left hand turn at full speed, Bucky crashed into the wall and rebounded, only losing a little of his momentum. Behind him, the hounds attempted the same maneuver and slid, crashing into each other with baleful howls of rage. Bucky laughed and gained several yards on his pursuers. 

Twisting around another corner, Bucky repeated the maneuver, grunting as his flesh shoulder collided a second time with the steel wall. It dented, but held, and he ran on with even more distance on the hellhounds. Enough, in fact, that he considered the door he was approaching rapidly on the right. 

Fishing out the keycard, miraculously still in his pocket despite his tumbles, Bucky considered if it was worth the risk. The room could be another trap, or a dead end. It was the first room he’d encountered since being pulled from the ceiling, the obvious place for the bastards to hide.

Bucky was just about to hide the card, try his luck on another corridor, when he saw two hellhounds careening from the end of the hall. There were only two, but two was too many. Fighting them would steal all the momentum, all the distance he had gained from the rest of the pack.

“Fuck,” Bucky cursed.

Pivoting sharply, he used his metal hand to stop his progress by catching the edge of the doorframe. He slammed the keycard against the reader. The moment it beeped, he twisted the handle and rushed inside, just ahead of reaching teeth. Turning on his heel again, Bucky tried to slam the door shut, but one of the beasts was already halfway through. More bodies slammed into the door, into the hound wedged between it and the frame. 

Desperately, Bucky braced his legs against the steel floor, his metal shoulder against the heavy door, and pushed. The edge of the door slammed into the hound’s ribcage. There was a dull, hollow sound, and the creature screamed, thrashing as it was trapped in place. It didn’t even try to back off, lunging forward, claws scrabbling for purchase as more hounds shoved at it, at the door, from the outside. 

There was no choice, Bucky had to let it in. Easing up on the door, just enough that the trapped hellhound could slip through, he then quickly slammed closed on the rest of the mob - pack? God, it didn’t _matter_ \- and the beast’s tail. Even over the hound’s scream, Bucky heard the door’s lock engage. 

Having its tail trapped in the door didn’t stop the hound for more than a moment. It thrashed, straining against its own body, until it literally ripped itself free from the door. Snarling, it leapt at Bucky, who simply lifted his Scorpion, aimed, and fired the last of his rounds into the tenacious creature’s skull. 

Breathing hard, Bucky leaned against the door and stared down at it. It was insane how fucking determined they were to kill him. No creature worked this damned hard for a meal. No animal hated so much that they disregarded their own survival to take down their prey. 

Nothing in nature acted the way these beasts did.

Outside the door, the creatures continued to howl, slamming bodily into the door, trying to get in. The lock would hold, for a time. Give him a moment to catch his breath, assess the state of his equipment, and figure out what he was going to do next. 

Looking from the hound, Bucky took his first look at the room he had entered. Half-frozen mist wafted above the steel floor, in between large, hip high freezers. There were dozens of them, lined up in rows and spread evenly across the steel floor. The entire room wasn’t very large, only about twenty feet by twenty feet. Shelves lined the walls, small, styrofoam coolers packed just as obsessively evenly along each length. Barcodes were centered on each cooler, each freezer.

A barcode scanner lay on the floor in the center aisle, next to a Nike tennis shoe.

Shaking his head, Bucky turned to his gear. He had one full clip in his rifle, another for the Scorpion, but with the dimensions of the room, he wouldn’t be able to use either. It was square, steel, and any bullet that didn’t stop inside a body would ricochet. Likely, right back at him. He could climb back into the ceiling, but that would leave him again at the mercy of those human-things that Bucky was actively trying not to think about. There were four knives left, one large enough to fight with, the others strictly for throwing and also bracing his ankles. He had four explosive charges, but had to save at least one to open up the wall of the escape tunnel. That left him with one shaped charge and two grenades.

The injuries he was sporting were the real obstacle. His body was wrecked, the fever kept spiking and ebbing, leaving him either too hot, or freezing cold. The metal arm was working fine, though the skin about it was torn and bleeding. Not itching, not healing, because of the fucking poison that dripped from the hellhounds’ teeth. His flesh arm throbbed, aching; no longer itching. The damned poison again, making the injuries from the lift worse on top of the new ones.

There just wasn’t enough time to mend, weren’t enough supplies or support. Even if he got to the escape tunnel, he was fucked. The only way out of this was to survive the multitude of monsters milling outside the door, slamming into it, jolting the locks and hinges. The fucking thing wasn’t going to hold, not for long.

Bucky bared his teeth. He wasn’t going to die here, not without a fight. Not without taking the bastards with him.

He got to work.

The refrigeration units turned out to be easy to move. Soon he had them stacked, creating enough room for him to fight, but forcing the hounds to meet him in ones and twos. One shaped charge he attached to the door, planning to blow it instead of waiting for the things to come for him. The other, he strapped inside one of the freezers. When he set it off, it would send shrapnel in every direction, taking any hellhounds with it. Bucky as well, but that’s why he would save it for last.

Everything in order, Bucky rubbed his face with the back of his hand, pushing away sweat-damp hair. Wrinkling his nose when they just fell back into place, he dragged the hair tie off his ponytail and scraped his hair together again. Neater, out of the way, and less distracting.

Then he sighed, eyed the door half-caved in from the repeated blows, and depressed the trigger on the first shaped charge.

There was a muffled boom, and the heavy, metal door flew out into the hall. Hellhounds bellowed, a dry and hollow sound, and howled as it crushed them beneath its weight. There was no pause, however. The hellhounds, dozens upon dozens of them that hadn’t been crushed, stormed atop their battered brethren and into the room. The stacked freezers funneled them even as Bucky threw the first grenade. 

Another explosion ripped through the corridor, killing another dozen hellhounds packed together, trying to rush through the door at once. Not all died, some were merely maimed, yet still crawling forward, dragging their broken bodies as their comrades ran atop them. Bucky wanted to shoot the easy targets, but bullets were a precious commodity. 

Palming the last knife not in his boots, a wickedly sharp, curved, ten-inch combat blade, Bucky lunged forward as the first hound passed through his makeshift tunnel. The blade sank into its eye and he ripped it free even as he trained his rifle on the next over its shoulder. Bucky fired again, then again. Each shot he dropped a hound, no more than one bullet for a creature. 

When the clip ran empty, he dropped the rifle to the ground and drew his Scorpion. Flicking it to automatic, he fired single round shots instead of semi-automatic three-round bursts. It would make the clip last longer, but it was his last. He counted the shots, making each one count.

Five left.

Four.

Three.

When it was empty, it would be hand-to-hand fighting. Bucky’s fists, his knife, against the teeth and claws of the hellhounds still swarming through the blasted door. There were so many dead bodies, he had created another wall between the freezers, but the hounds were hardly slowed. They ran over the corpses, leaping at him from a greater height each time.

Two rounds left.

Bucky threw his last grenade, letting it soar over the mound of carcasses. A moment later, the force of the blast sent bodies blasting into the air, more howling, screaming cries as some beasts died, others were mutilated and had their limbs torn away. Bucky grinned, viciously satisfied by the destruction he had wrought. It wasn’t enough, it wasn’t nearly enough, but there were dozens dead, and dozens more would die before they brought him down.

A hound, hole and hale, hurled over the wall of bodies and Bucky fired.

Last shot.

Mutated dead dog flesh slammed into the steel floor, inches from him. Bucky’s lungs burned, the frozen air warmed for a moment from the explosions, stinking of chemicals and coolant gas. A glance upward told him the ceiling was leaking copious amounts of the stinging substance. 

Another hound leapt for him and Bucky whirled, the knife slashing through the air and through the skin, tendon, and arteries of its throat. The next met his metal fist, punched so hard it flexed back, only to scramble up as more hounds leapt into his makeshift room. There were now enough to surround him, lunging and circling, trying to rip him apart, trying to bring him to the ground, where they would have the advantage once more. 

Bucky’s fist dropped another, then his knife sank into another’s eye, but he was rapidly running out of space to fight. The bodies were now piling at his feet, boxing him in. It was over. There was no space. 

Stabbing out, Bucky’s knife stuck on a rib in a hound’s chest as it used another of its comrades to leap for his throat. Unarmed, Bucky dodged teeth and claws until his metal shoulder slammed against a wall. 

They didn’t stop. 

Another beast leapt at his exposed right side, on him, red-eyed and snarling. Bucky punched his flesh fist into its face, his knuckles ripping on its jagged teeth. It fell, but got back up, even as another leapt for his throat. Bucky tried to twist, to get his metal arm up, or reach for the detonator and end it. 

The whispers screamed.

This was it, he thought, as he watched the black teeth come for him in slow motion. The whispers knew it, too. Bucky’s last stand.

The hound jerked midair, a blur of silver metal knocking it from its course. A blast of white light seared Bucky’s eyes, and the mutts howled in agony, cringing away. A gun fired, then two, low caliber, but close, so close. 

Bucky didn’t let himself hope. Throwing himself away from the wall and a hound fast enough to leap at him again, he nailed the closest hellhound between the eyes with his fist. Shots continued to ring out in the room, a steady staccato assaulting the creatures, dropping them like flies. Two different handguns, and what was the unmistakeable sound of Stark’s repulsors. Under it all was the meaty sound of the silver thing, _the shield_ , slamming into the hellhounds left and right. Seeing it up close, Bucky had to admit it wasn’t just a Frisbee. The weapon struck with enough force to decapitate, and crush chests inward.

Bucky was panting, so wet with sweat it was slowly dripping from the ends of his hair, again loose around his shoulders, spilled from his tail somewhere during the fray. His flesh arm was trembling as he bent, ripping his knife from where it had lodged earlier. Spitting out blood, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stepped over a beast still twitching on the floor at his feet. 

Slowly, he looked around, taking in the carnage he had left behind. There were corpses strewn across the cold storage room, smoke and slag from the grenades, and freezers knocked every-which-way as the last struggles of the beleaguered hounds had tipped them over. 

And there, in the back, were Rogers, Stark and Romanova. They had come back. For him. 

Romanova leaned against the door frame, one of her guns in one hand and Rogers’ in the other. The sweat on her forehead was beading even now, strain in her eyes, and her face so pale she looked green and far much older than she was. She was trying to hide it, trying not to seem weak, and it was easy to see why. Someone, Stark or Rogers, had splinted her left leg, the bandage wrapped around it already bled through. Considering she had a version of the serum too, and her healing factor had to be powerful enough that she could disregard a hazmat suit, the fact she was so pale and shaky told Bucky the wound had to be severe. Perhaps a bite, as she lost a lot of blood. Was still losing blood. Probably, the blood that was smeared liberally over Roger’s chest and hands.

Stark looked relatively unscathed, some scrapes and scratches on his otherwise shiny armor. When Bucky swept his gaze over Rogers, there was the dried blood on his chest and stomach. The sleeves of his uniform were almost stiff with it, even his thighs were covered, heavier on the left than on the right. He had carried Romanova, his right arm under her back, left under her legs. There was a grimace pulling at his features, showing he was in some pain, but Bucky couldn’t see an injury no matter how hard he looked.

“You’re hurt,” Rogers declared as Bucky came to a stop. “Sit and we’ll,” he grimaced and took a deeper breath, “patch you up.”

Bucky thought about the multitude of wounds he was sporting: his arm was all but shredded, his back hurt like a bitch; the deep bruising only now starting to heal, his shoulder was mauled and inflamed. The deeper wounds pulled at his chest and stomach. That wasn’t the end of his misery. He was tired, so very hungry, and aching in every bone in his body. They would need a hospital to ‘patch him up,’ a mountain of food, and no fighting for at least a day for the worst of it to heal.

Bucky huffed derisively and rolled his eyes, still wary, still reeling from the fact that they had even come looking for him. That they had discovered him in time.

“How did you find me?” Bucky demanded, ignoring the request; it hadn’t felt like an order, strangely enough. “Did you put a tracker on me?”

Rogers turned pink, the strangest reaction Bucky thought he’d ever seen. 

“We followed the trail of blood and destruction,” Steve answered, catching Bucky’s metal arm and tugging him toward a fallen refrigeration unit. He motioned to the improvised seat as Stark picked up a bag from the floor and brought it over. “Please sit? There’s no trackers on you.”

“Much to my displeasure,” Romanova said dryly, though her voice was weaker than he had heard it so far.

Bucky sat, without as much reluctance as he expected, and watched Stark hand over the bag. Though he winced, Steve knelt on his right side and dug through it, pulling out bandages, suture glue, bottles of water, and even a needle and thread. Most of it wasn’t supplies they had brought with. Seemed they had been busy, other than patching up Romanova.

“How’d you find me?” Bucky repeated.

“Gee,” Rogers said, smiling cheekily up at Bucky, “You’re welcome, Sergeant. Pullin’ your ass outta the fryer was no trouble.”

Bucky glowered, refusing to admit to how shocked he’d been to see them, to know they’d come back for him. It had shaken a part of him. After being so sure they had left him, injuries or not, and then here they were when Bucky had needed them most. Sure, he would have taken most of the dogs on his own, but he wouldn’t have won that battle.

“Gee.” Bucky imitated Roger’s voice and tone almost perfectly, making the Captain’s blue eyes widen with surprise. “Considering you shoved my ass into the fryer in the first place, I do hope it was no trouble getting it out of there, too.”

The large blue eyes somehow widened, staring up at him, stricken with guilt.

“I’m so sorry,” Rogers murmured, “I didn’t… I had to make a call.”

“My fault,” Romanova interjected and Bucky glanced her way to see her tap her leg.

“You locked me in with those things!”

“I know,” Rogers said, voice tight, but calm while his eyes pleaded for Bucky to understand. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Bucky repeated, almost blank with sudden rage. 

Rogers made a sound that wasn’t a whine because Alphas didn’t whine.

“I wanted…” He took a breath, closing his eyes and holding up a hand toward Romanova who, when Bucky looked, shut her mouth with a click of teeth. “If I could have saved both of you, I would have made that call. It wasn’t an option. So I…sealed the door and I’m sorry.”

At least Rogers had the decency to say he was sorry, as useless as that was. Bucky couldn't help feeling a helpless, impotent rage at the situation. Here he was, all mauled and exhausted, bleeding and hurting basically everywhere. And here was Rogers, dirty, but mostly unharmed. Sorry indeed. 

Bucky took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, thinking though his rage, through the strange sense of betrayal that had haunted him since he had encountered that locked door.

They had come back.

“Explain, in detail, preferably.”

Confusion flicked through Rogers guilt, swallowed by the guilt in a heartbeat before he nodded.

“Tony got us out of the room. He went back in, but there was another explosion. Nat was bleeding out and there were still so many of those things. Too many. I couldn’t see you, Tony hadn’t… We weren’t going to be able to keep fighting those things off. I had to make a choice, save the teammate near me that was dying, or look for the one that might be dead. I had to choose so I...locked the door. I couldn’t leave Tony to look for you. With me carrying Nat, Tony was our only fighter.” His lips twisted. “Hell, if they came from behind us, we would have been done for. It wasn’t…what I wanted. It was the choice I made. Patch her up, then come back for you.”

Bucky stared at the Captain, searching his eyes and face for any sign that he was lying. That this was a bluff to regain his trust. There was nothing. Rogers just looked up at him with those big, guileless, guilty blue eyes. 

Huffing, he turned his face away from Rogers.

“You said you were going to patch me up,” Bucky said gruffly.

Rogers swallowed, maybe understanding that Bucky was letting him off the hook. For now. 

“Besides the arm,” he asked, “what hurts?”

Bucky couldn't help it, he laughed.

“Everything.”

Using his teeth, Steve yanked the red gloves from his hands and rolled his eyes at the answer. Somehow he found a part of Bucky’s arm that wasn’t cut open, holding it out to pour water over the wounds. The blood and grime ran in a river from his skin, dripping from his hand, and exposing the slashes from the beast’s claws, teeth, and the elevator’s edge. Bucky flexed his hand, watching one particularly deep gash open and close, weeping blood. It was strange, being unable to feel the itch of his body mending.

Rogers’ large hands were gentle as they lifted Bucky’s arm to start wrapping gauze about the multitude of injuries. The pressure he put on the deeper gash caused Bucky’s breathing to hitch. Rogers worked quickly, confidently, and silently. The bandage was tight without being restrictive, though it wound from Bucky’s palm, up all the way to his shoulder. 

“Where else?” Rogers asked as he finished.

“I’m fine, let’s get moving,” Bucky said, starting to stand. “We still got a time limit, right?”

To his surprise, and more than a little alarm, Rogers caught his hips and shoved him back into place. It pulled a growl from Bucky which then cut off When Rogers’ hands darted away. Keeping him in place, but not touching further. 

“Where else?” Rogers said again, more steel in his tone. “We’re not goin’ anywhere ‘til you’re fixed up.”

Bucky stared.

“Why?”

Rogers’ face scrunched up like he didn’t understand the question, except when he answered, it was clear he did.

“Because you’re hurt. Because I - we - don’t want you in more pain than needs be. Because you’ll fight better if I patch ya up. Because it’s the right thing t’do. Because I’m tellin’ you to let me help you; an order if you need it.”

Rogers was earnest and agitated, eager for Bucky to believe him. As if it even mattered. Likely, just his guilt eating away at him.

“Because he won’t let us do the same for him until you’re seen to,” Romanova said blandly.

Bucky shifted in the chair, glancing down at Rogers. The Captain shrugged, unrepentant. Scowling, Bucky yanked open his tac vest to show off the bite on his shoulder, the bruises, and the deeper bite mark on his chest which had ripped open his shirt.

Rogers winced. He was so close, Bucky could smell his sweat and the faint odor of gunpowder that clung to his clothes. It stirred something inside him, under the pain, the anger, and the exhaustion. Something soft and interested. Something that liked the scent more than he had ever liked another’s.

“That’s gonna take a minute,” Rogers said, standing with a grimace. “Let’s get all that off you so it's easier for me to work.”

There was no way Bucky was passing that opportunity up, even as he let Rogers help him out of his gear.

“Odd place to take my clothes off, Rogers,” Bucky drawled.

“Pretty sure I won’t get another chance,” Rogers shot back, voice harder than usual. “So I’m seizing the moment.”

Bucky barked out a laugh.

“You two are gross,” Stark grumbled.

“What Tony means,” Rogers said evenly, “is that he’s sorry for blowing you up.”

“It’s not my fault the building wasn’t up to code,” Stark said defensively. “That wouldn’t have happened if they’d built the place like they were supposed to. It’s _code_ for a reason.”

“Tony,” Steve said quietly.

The Omega looked away.

“It wasn’t… I didn’t mean to get you hurt, or left behind.”

Bucky stared, first at Stark, then back at Rogers. Had they really _all_ decided to come back for him? Not just Rogers with his guilt and his…rut? He didn’t know what to say to that. Logically, he understood the words, but it didn’t change how he felt: raw and tired and so, so angry. Bucky settled on grunting and letting them interpret the sound however they liked. It wasn’t as if he knew what to feel, what to even think anyway.

Standing at Bucky’s side now, Rogers pushed him back into the chair and picked up another bottle of water. Instead of just dumping it on Bucky, he grabbed a square of gauze, using his teeth to rip the packaging open, and wet it. Gingerly, he began cleaning the blood and sweat from around the injuries. Bucky wasn’t sure why he let Rogers. He was capable of doing it on his own, of avoiding how close the Captain was. The smell of him was surrounding Bucky, and his warmth... His touch felt nice, more acceptable than Bucky ever expected an Alpha’s touch to feel. He watched Rogers’ careful hands dab at the wounds on his chest, long fingers gentle and tender.

Rogers’ mouth opened, then shut again and he reached for the suture glue. Though he repressed it ruthlessly, Bucky had the sudden urge to ask what he had been about to say. Instead, he let Rogers start with the tears around his metal shoulder, and he was so very careful. It wasn’t the first time Bucky had needed patching, but usually the wounds were so severe this kind of attention was impossible. Not that anyone would have cared for him this way, or forgone seeing to their own injuries until his were dealt with.

Not that they would have felt guilty for leaving him behind.

“Stark,” Bucky demanded, realizing he had been staring at Rogers’ face for god knows how long. When he did, he jerked his head to stare at the middle distance and prompted, “Would you rather.”

“Okay,” Stark said eagerly, “Would you rather be the most popular kid in school, or the smartest?”

“Bucky was both,” Rogers said softly.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Romanova rubbing her hand over her face, a pained expression on her features. Bucky stared at Rogers, not sure what to feel. On the one hand, he couldn’t help but be pleased with somebody praising him like that. On the other, it was disquieting how much Rogers thought about him, and how much he knew of Bucky’s past. The past that he had nearly forgotten himself.

Finally realizing what he had said, Rogers winced.

“Sorry,” he said plaintively. “It slipped. Different question, Tony.”

Stark didn’t hesitate.

“Would you rather put Steve on mute, or listen to me blather all day.”

“Mute,” Rogers said quickly, “Please mute.”

“I think we’re all muting Steve,” Romanova said with a roll of her eyes.

Stark chuckled.

“I’m not even insulted.”

“Where’d you learn to do this?” Bucky found himself asking.

Rogers smiled up at him tentatively.

“My ma was a nurse,” he said. “She’d take me around to the house calls she made, if no one was sick with anything, and make me help.”

“House calls?” Bucky repeated. “She was a nurse, not a doctor?”

Steve - Rogers - shrugged. The gentle hands lifted his metal arm and he eyed the wounds in his side. The suture glue was set back down, the needle and thread picked up instead. 

“You know,” abruptly, he stopped talking. Chewing at his bottom lip, he murmured, “This’ll hurt more,” and began swiftly and neatly stitching his flesh back together.

“Not everyone could afford a doctor when I grew up,” Rogers said, apparently choosing to answer the question after all. “If they were hurt, my ma would help out sometimes, especially with factory injuries. She was real good at what she did and I imagine she would have become a doctor, if they’d let her.”

Bucky felt a strong rush of gratitude that the Captain had not made the explanation about their shared past.

“Plus, you know, ended up patching myself up more often than not after a fight went sideways.”

“Didn’t the medics do that for you?” Bucky asked curiously.

Rogers smiled in amusement.

“Before the war. Just me ‘n’ ma, and she was workin’ night shifts more of’n than not. If I got knocked down, scraped up,” he shrugged again.

Bucky swallowed back a comment about scrawny Alphas and territory challenges. That was more of the same history they shared, and he really, really didn't want to encourage Steve. He didn’t. Not even to hear about his sister again.

“Why’d you come back?” Bucky blurted. “If you thought I was dead…”

The hands on Bucky’s side went still. Abruptly they pulled away, gathering up more gauze. Rogers’ arm slipped around his upper back, easing him forward so he could wrap the bandage in place about both wounds. Yet, Bucky couldn’t escape the sensation that, for a moment, it had felt like being held.

“Because maybe you weren’t,” Steve said gruffly. “Didn’t I say I didn’t want to make that call? Soon as I had Nat patched up, we came back. If you’d stayed put, we would have gotten to you sooner.”

“Are you trying to say this was my fault?” Bucky demanded, baring his teeth at Rogers.

“No,” Steve said quickly. Sorrow flickered in his eyes and he repeated firmer, more calmly, “No. It’s mine. You had no reason to trust we’d come back. I hope I don’t have to make that call again, but if I do, maybe you can trust us next time.”

Bucky looked away again.

“It was a better plan to leave me behind. Use me as a distraction for the dogs and get to Clarkson.”

“Maybe,” Rogers conceded, “Changes nothing. I don’t leave my people behind.”

The bandages firmly in place, Steve stood and moved to a crate not far away from Bucky, holding his hand to his side as he sat. Tiredly, he rubbed his face before laying his hands on his knees. Bucky could see Romanova and Stark exchanging glances before the latter moved suddenly toward the door.

“There’s this thing…there, um, that I need to check. Right now. We, I meant we need to check, right Nat?” he babbled, clanging up to Romanova and all-but-bodily pushing her out the door. “So we’ll be there, checking the thing. Make sure Cap gets patched up, Barnes.”

With that terribly obvious ploy to leave them alone, Stark swept Romanova out of the blown out door and hustled away as fast as a man in a metal suit could.


	12. Chapter 12

“Tony,” Steve protested, frowning as his friend seemed to feel the need to force him to be alone with Bucky right that very second. When the armored man didn’t stop, though Natasha sounded like she was protesting on her own, Steve called louder, “Tony!”

“It’s important, very important. Be back in a jiff. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, not that that leaves you with much you can’t do, but anyways, we’ll be back.”

Steve groaned, tipping his head into his hands.

“Sorry,” he said honestly.

To his surprise, Bucky got to his feet and gestured towards Steve.

“Strip.”

Steve snapped his head up and stared, mouth suddenly dry, and feeling a strong urge to actually cover up instead.

“The coat, take it off,” Bucky said, apparently catching on to his own wording. “It’s your side, right? You held it when you sat down.”

“Uh, yeah, right,” Steve managed. “Fair’s fair, right?” 

Bucky gave him a flat look and Steve couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled in his chest. The word, ‘Strip,’ echoed in his head, making his heart race, despite the perfectly logical reasoning. Having all of Bucky’s muscles under his hands had been a study in self-control. That didn’t mean that the Omega would have the same problem. Honestly, that he was willing to help at all was a bit of a surprise, though it shouldn’t have been. Besides being ‘professional’, Bucky would feel compelled to return Steve’s ‘kindness’ in patching him up. After all that he’d been through, he couldn’t just allow an Alpha to do something nice.

Unstrapping the front buckles on his suit, Steve exposed the hidden zipper and eased it down. He absolutely did not look up at Barnes to see if he was looking. This wasn’t actually a strip show, he reminded himself. Bucky was more accepting of Steve’s teasing, but only after the Omega started it. Of course, he was also more successful since Steve wasn’t a damned porcupine.

“You _are_ actually the embodiment of ‘grumpy cat’,” Steve said, needing to fill the silence as he carefully shrugged out of the suit’s top. “Never thought I’d agree with Tony on one of his stupid nicknames.” Looking around to find somewhere not covered in gore to put it, he ended up just draping it over his own pack. “Well, I like Sergeant Sneaky Boots, too.”

Bucky huffed and Steve chanced a glance his way. His eyelids were lowered, dark lashes fanning his cheeks. It was just for a moment, as his face relaxed with amusement. Steve couldn’t help but trace the features with his eyes; Bucky was so damned beautiful. Steve could easily draw him for hours, make a study of the incredible curve of Bucky’s jaw, the surprisingly soft shape of his eyes, the curve of his cheekbones. He wanted to draw and touch, to run his fingers over all the shadowed places, map them with his fingertips. Steve _wanted_ , ached with it, and it was new and exciting, not to mention terrifying. No one he’d ever known was as damaged as Bucky Barnes.

Bucky lowered his head and his long, brown hair swung forward, obscuring his expression.

The metal hand gripped Steve’s shoulder, pushing him back. Bucky leaned over and Steve held up his arm, exposing the gashes from the hellhound that had gotten under his shield. There were four, evenly spaced, nearly three inches long and deep. It didn’t feel like anything internal had been ruptured, but then again Steve wasn’t sure he would know what that felt like.

“That one is the stupidest things anyone’s ever called me,” Bucky scoffed. “My boots are not sneaky.” 

“What?” Steve snorted out a laugh, wincing only when Bucky’s fingers prodded his side. “Bucky, everything about you is sneaky.” Wincing again, this time at his own words, Steve said quickly, “I meant physically. You’re a _physically_ sneaky person. And it’s better than Buckitty,” Steve felt his eyes widen as he realized what he had said, “Oh my god, why don’t I come with a mute button?”

“Got me,” Bucky said dryly, but his lips twitched for half a second.

Bucky knelt down by the crate and bent lower to get a look at the place where the claws had caught Steve’s side. Steve was now staring at the top of Bucky’s head. His hair looked so soft… Steve’s body tilted closer to Bucky as the Omega’s lovely scent filled his nose. He smelled like heaven under the damp, blood, and smoke. 

Realizing he was leaning in, leaning closer, Steve jerked backwards and forced himself to breathe through his mouth. 

“No one does this to me,” Steve moaned, “How do you do this to me? No, don’t answer that. Someone might overhear and then I’d really be screwed.”

Bucky’s warm flesh hand was spread over Steve’s ribs, the touch almost burning, and Steve had trouble concentrating on anything but that single point of contact.

“We can hear you, Steve,” Natasha said over the comms.

From the heat on his face, Steve knew he was blushing.

“ _See_?” he said emphatically.

“I can’t breathe,” Tony said, wheezing. “Buckitty.”

Steve wondered if you could die of mortification.

“Tony,” he said fervently, “if you call him that, he won’t have to kill you because _I will_.”

Bucky actually laughed, a dry chuckle that did wicked things to Steve’s body. Then he quietly pulled the comm unit from Steve’s ear, turned it off, and pushed it into his palm. Every molecule of Steve’s body was aware of that touch, the brush of Bucky’s fingers over his skin. Pressing against his palm and pulling away.

“There, now you’re muted,” Bucky said and Steve looked up to find him taking off his own comms. “Sort of, anyways. The suture glue will probably seal these. Just hold still.”

“Holding still,” Steve mumbled. “Thanks.”

“Fair’s fair,” Bucky drawled. 

“I meant about the comms, but thanks for returning the favor, too.”

Bucky’s exhale was too slow, too controlled, but he didn’t look up at Steve. Keeping his gaze on his work, on his hands, which were sure and competent, yet careful. For all that they fought like cat’s and dogs, the Sergeant’s touch was gentle, quick as he tried to spare Steve pain. It was an interesting dichotomy that, for all his outward anger, Bucky never tried to be cruel. 

“I don’t like being indebted to anyone,” Bucky said quietly, his head still lowered.

It was heart-wrenching to know that Bucky considered basic human decency no more than currency. That he had been taught he had had to pay for things as simple as first aid. Steve would have liked to place the blame for that at Hydra’s feet. The truth was, it wasn’t only Hydra who had stripped Bucky of everything he had known, then forced him to pay for even the smallest of kindnesses. Fury had done the same. S.H.I.E.L.D. had also. For nearly a century, Bucky had been treated as though he was worth less than the dirt on Steve’s shoes. And though Bucky had fought against it, part of him had accepted that it was true.

It wasn’t true, but convincing Bucky of that _and_ that this wasn’t a ploy so Steve could get into his pants wouldn’t be an easy feat. It would be nearly impossible, as a matter of fact. Good thing Steve was good at doing the impossible.

“You don’t owe me anything,” he said just as quietly.

Bucky shrugged again. 

“We’ll see.”

“You’d have to stick around to know.”

Bucky tilted his head up to look at Steve, maybe hearing something unexpected in his tone. He looked surprised.

“You seem very sure of yourself.” It was said quietly as Bucky lowered his head again to work on Steve’s wounds.

“Bucky, I won’t ever leave you behind,” Steve said, realizing that may be one of the issues still between them. “Not if I’m still capable of walking.”

Steve needed Bucky to know it was true. The thought that Bucky believed Steve would let him down a second time was untenable. Once was far too much as it was, but Steve wouldn’t allow another situation like Azzano. Realistically, he knew that he couldn’t have done anything to change what happened, now or then, but knowing it didn’t change that he had been too late to help. With Bucky, he seemed to always be too late. Years, minutes, hours… Steve always arrived after-the-fact. 

Bucky shook his head, sounding tired of the argument when he said, “I’m not a part of your pack, Captain.”

Turning his hand over, so it rested palm up on his knee, Steve said, “No, you’re not, but you could be, if you wanted to.”

Hard grey eyes flicked to his hand. His offering. In the cafeteria, Bucky had been right; Steve noticed now when he marked the others. Not always during, but at least after. He’d done it to Bucky several times since, not always with the Omega protesting. Steve was actively trying not to, but he couldn’t help being drawn to Bucky. They were compatible. Of course Bucky, as an Omega, didn’t feel that bone-deep conviction and Steve wasn’t going to mention it. If Tony hinted at it again, he was going to tear him into pieces, no matter if Steve hadn’t a clue how he had figured it out. 

This, however, was different. They both knew it, so Bucky attacked. At times Steve thought that was the man’s default setting. That’s what he did. Attack, attack until his opponent realised there was no way out, but through.

“You want a murderer on your team? What would people say, Captain?” 

The words themselves cut deeply, at both Steve and Bucky. There was a dark twist to his voice that clearly told Steve that Bucky wasn’t bothered by being called a murderer. He was proud of how dangerous he was. He liked people recognizing just how much death and destruction he could cause if provoked. 

“A lot of things I wouldn’t pay attention to,” Steve answered, not rising to the bait, “since I’m not asking a murderer. I’m asking a competent sergeant in the U.S. Army to join my team. We could use a man like you.”

“A killer,” Bucky sneered. Something Steve had said, he didn’t know what, not ringing true to Bucky. Steve could see it, anger and pain behind those grey eyes. “An unstable psychotic. A rage-filled monster. Any team that can use me is no team I want to be a part of.”

Steve held that shadowed gaze and didn’t blink. In the short time he had known Bucky, he had learned never to back down, never show fear, never fold under the vicious words the Sergeant liked to spew. They were just an attack; the best defense being a good offense. Steve hoped if he tried hard enough, Bucky would hear what he was trying to say.

“The only part of that that is true is the first, and then you are in like company. We all have blood on our hands, Sergeant Barnes. You think I don’t see how you fight not to be what they made you? I see you.” Steve leaned forward and Bucky tucked his chin down, hiding his throat, “I see you. You hide behind your anger, pretend you’re nothing more than what they made you, but I see you, and that’s the last thing you want to be. With us, you can help people.”

“Help people? Why would I want to have anything to do with them at all? Because I owe them? Here’s the newsflash for you, I don’t owe anybody _anything_.” 

The last words were growled out, true aggression flaring in the man. Staring at Bucky now, Steve could see that the Omega had only been acting before. Faking the anger, picking at every little hole in Steve’s argument because he could. Because they were there, waiting to be filled. This, though, this was a genuine threat. Bucky was as likely to stab him as to listen, Steve thought, but he couldn’t back down now. Especially not now, when Bucky was still listening. This entire conversation had been a risk, he knew. Bucky was dangerous and unstable; Steve was under no illusions about that. 

“You don’t have to,” Steve agreed carefully. “The only person you owe anything to is yourself.”

Bucky let out a sound that wasn’t even a growl, just a primal expression of pure rage.

“Do not presume to know anything about me.” There was tension in Bucky’s face, violence that was barely leashed by his iron control. “You dare preach what I should do? You… What fucking right do you have to judge me?”

The hands on Steve’s side and shoulder were still, warm and cold in contrast. Too much pressure one way or the other would have sent pain shooting through Steve’s side. He didn’t so much as twitch, being gentle, even as rage and violence leapt in his eyes.

“None,” Steve said quickly, his stomach twisting uncomfortably. He could feel the moment slipping through his fingers, the chance he might have had to keep the man next to him from becoming their enemy. It was his fault, he could see that much, not having said exactly the right thing. It would be up to him to fix that, if he even could.

Steve hesitated, then tilted his head back, baring his throat to the Omega. Eyes widening ever-so-slightly, Bucky’s gaze flicked down to his throat and locked there. He swallowed hard, drawing Steve’s eye from his dark gaze to his throat. Bucky’s pulse fluttered, rapid and increasing even as Steve watched.

“It was not my intention to tell you what to do,” Steve said, keeping his chin tilted up, forcing himself not to lower it. “Only to offer you another choice. It’s your choice, Bucky. I wouldn’t take that from you.”

Baring his teeth, Bucky growled, but the sound lacked the edge of violence he had been skirting earlier; a poor imitation of the anger that usually burned in him. His Adam’s apple bobbed, eyes still on Steve’s throat, hands frozen on Steve’s side.

“And if I say no?” Bucky demanded. “Back to the Raft with me?”

“That’s up to you,” Steve said quietly, watching the way Bucky’s eyes flicked up, locked on his, as his hand finally moved, holding the first cut closed so the suture glue would take. “Whether you go back, I mean. You could get your revenge, or you could take what they wanted you to be and use it to help people.”

“You say such pretty words,” Bucky said, but spoke slower now, the words more careful, as tension drained out of him. “You say you respect me and want me on your team, yet you see me as an animal, that’s going to what? Go on a rampage and kill innocents by the dozens? Eat babies? Rape and pillage?” 

Bucky snorted derisively at his own imagery, rolling both his shoulders in that strangely fluid way that captured Steve’s attention.

“I won’t pretend I haven’t considered your plans after this are to do to S.H.I.E.L.D. what you did to Hydra,” Steve admitted, “since they’re the ones that wronged you this time. I hope you won’t, I hope you’ll find some kind of peace, but I’m not stupid enough to think it’s just going to magically find you.”

“Oh, I know why S.H.I.E.L.D. came after me,” Bucky said dismissively, though his throat worked again, and his gaze returned to Steve’s bared throat, “that was pure self-preservation on both our parts. It’s Fury I have a beef with, and he knows that I will make him pay. But that’s between him and me. You just assumed that I have no sense of moderation.” Bucky shrugged. “You keep forgetting that I am much older than you.”

“No, Buck, it’ll be between you and him, then between you and us. That’s what I assume. You have more control than anyone I’ve ever known.” Steve swallowed, refusing the instinct to hide his throat. “Maybe Fury deserves it - I don’t know what he’s done to you, but you have another option. That’s all I wanted you to know. With us.”

“I would never protect Fury the way you do. You trust him like a child trusts a parent, blindly and stupidly.”

Steve felt his lips curl at the edges.

“I didn’t think you’d fall for that, of all people. I trust my team. Sure, I’m not good at spotting the lies like you or Natasha, but that’s why I keep her near. I trust her.” He paused. “You.”

“But do you even know how many more people like me Fury has squirreled away? How many people work for him because they were blackmailed, or outright tortured into it? Have you always considered the bigger impact of the missions you do for him?” Bucky leaned closer, strangely calm now and Steve had a real fight not to tuck in his chin. “How many times have you just followed the mission, without looking back once?”

Steve didn’t answer immediately, taking the questions with as much weight as he thought they deserved. As much as he defended his team, Steve didn’t question each and every action he took on the scale of all the secrets Fury kept. There were more than he could count, too many, and Steve was a soldier. He chose to follow Fury because he believed that the man did what was right in the grand scheme of things.

“I can’t save everyone,” Steve said quietly, not arguing, not defending his views, not trying to show Bucky the ‘right’ way. This was just his way. He could only show his own self, and hope that was truth enough. “Fury isn’t the best man, the people he works for certainly aren’t either, but they’re what we have. I have the choice to work with them or wipe my hands of it and help no one. For me, that’s…not a choice. If I can help,” Steve motioned around the complex, “stop things like this from happening, that’s what I want to do. Along the way, I can only do my best to right the wrongs of other people. I can’t make their choices for them.”

The hand at his side moved again, holding open another gash. Steve did wince this time, but he wasn’t sure Bucky even saw. He lined the wound with glue and pressed it shut again, putting as little pressure on it as possible, but still making Steve’s breath catch.

“Maybe there are dozens more like you, but I didn’t know before. I know now, and if we get out of here, I’ll do whatever I can to put a stop to it. That’s all I can offer. I make mistakes,” Steve admitted painfully. “I’m not perfect; I don’t always do what’s right, but I try. I always look back and I don’t always follow orders. Sometimes that means my mistakes cause more harm than good, but I do what I can to clean up after myself.”

Bucky sighed, as tired as he had been when Steve had brought up their past one too many times. That bone tiredness that Steve suspected lay beneath all of Bucky’s anger. 

“Yet you sit there and preach at me, not once having asked me what I want.” 

“I’m not…” Steve sighed, shook his head and tipped his chin back again when the motion lowered it. “No, I didn’t. I don’t know what you want. I’m giving you an option. If you want it, it’s there. I didn’t think…” He smiled self-deprecatingly. “I assumed you wouldn’t want me to ask. See? Mistakes.”

The metal arm lifted, slowly, as if Bucky expected Steve to pull away. He didn’t, didn’t even flinch as the surprisingly warm metal fingers loosely wrapped about his throat, fingers pressed against his pulse. Shivering, Steve closed his eyes and took a deep breath, opening them again to find Bucky staring at him in surprise.

The thumb lightly scratched his scent glands and Steve barely bit back a moan.

“You are young. And idealistic. You’ll grow out of it eventually. Everybody does,” Bucky said thoughtfully, almost sadly. “Still, this is all assuming our deal is honored.”

It was Steve’s turn to show teeth.

“Maybe I will, but that’s who I am now and I don’t make idle threats, Bucky. If they don’t honor your deal… They may send you back, but we will come for you. Your options afterward will remain the same, but you will get the choice of what to do with your life. I promise you that.”

“Even though your pack thinks I’m a threat?”

Steve laughed softly and Bucky’s hand jerked away from him. 

“Oh, you’re a threat,” Steve agreed, “There’s no doubt in my mind that you could be the greatest threat my team’s ever faced. But you haven’t made that choice yet, Buck. You may never make it at all. Now you know there’s one more option. It won’t be easy, you can’t keep attacking your teammates like you do, but if you join us, we’ll stand by you. You won’t be alone.”

“I don’t need you, or a team,” Bucky shot back. “And your assumptions drive me fucking bonkers.”

“Which assumption?” Steve asked. “I think I made a few.”

“Oh, you did. You and your whole team think I would go after Fury with guns blazing and what, tanks blowing up New York. You assume that the only way I operate is through violence. For all you know, I could make it my mission to have a hashtag #furyisanidiot trending for weeks on end -”

Steve snorted, pleased he had understood that reference.

“- I could do a hundred different things that, frankly speaking, a bunch of overpowered individuals could do jack shit about.”

“Yes, you’re right,” Steve agreed easily. “I don’t think you’d go in with guns blazing, though. I think you’d find a way to get him one-on-one, make your revenge personal. I don’t think we could stop you at all, we’d just get sent to clean up after. Tell me I’m wrong and I’ll believe you, but that’s what I think.”

“Assumption again.”

Steve nodded, shrugging a shoulder.

“I make a lot of them, so does everyone else. You’ve assumed what I’m trying to get out of this conversation, that’s why I’m being honest with you. I see you, doesn't mean I always understand you. I _want_ to understand you.”

Bucky stared at him, his gaze shifting to his throat before he dropped from his crouch to his knees. The position made it impossible for Steve to maintain eye contact and keep his throat bared to the Omega. He would have held the position anyway, if he hadn’t understood. This was a request. A request not to submit and Steve would honor that, even while he felt himself fall a little harder simply because Bucky had made it. He was cold and vicious in a fight, ready to lash out at the briefest provocation, rough around the edges and bitter at the world. But he was still kind, good, and gentle, cruel only with his words. He was the most interesting, most attractive man Steve had ever met.

“I wouldn’t go after Fury physically at all,” Bucky confessed. “The man’s power lies in his convictions. In that way, he is much like you. If his faith in his own righteousness was broken, if he doubted his own reasons, he would be broken.”

Steve nodded slowly, looking past Bucky, considering. It was a good strategy, though Steve couldn’t see exactly how it could be implemented. If it was successful though, Bucky was right. Fury would resign. Step aside and let someone else who thought they knew best take over.

“And then what?” Steve asked, focusing on the Sergeant again.

“What?” Bucky asked, apparently having expected Steve to say something else.

“Then what?” Steve repeated. “Someone else takes his place, someone better maybe, or someone worse. The institution is still there. The practices and people that allowed you to end up in the Raft for three-and-a-half years, no suppressants, god-only-knows what else done to you. What about the others who, as you said, he might have squirreled away? Or did you only ask me those questions to get under my skin and make me doubt myself? If you don’t care, if you’ll just leave that to people like me, what do you do? Just fade into the woodwork? Adopt a cat and move to Germany? Maybe, I don’t know, I should probably just shut up, but I… Damn it, Bucky, I could use someone like you. You see so many things I don’t, and you work well with us. It feels like such a…waste.”

Steve looked down, and Bucky looked away. This would be it, he imagined. He’d stuck his damn foot in his mouth again.

“I like cats,” Bucky said with exaggerated thoughtfulness, his flesh hand shifting again. Another gash glued shut and pressed closed. “We get along really well.”

Steve snorted, despite himself.

“Why does that not surprise me at all?”

“I'm an independent creature,” Bucky confirmed with a nod, “that bites.”

Steve took a deep breath, looking up and meeting Bucky’s haunting grey gaze.

“I’m sure you can get by just fine on your own. Thing is, you don’t have to.”

Bucky eyed him, tilting his head to the side. When he bared his own throat, Steve couldn’t help the way his lips curled in amusement. It didn’t stop him from looking, from enjoying the length of Bucky’s pale throat, but he knew what was coming next before it even left the Sergeant’s mouth. Another attack, because Bucky was not a man to submit to anyone.

“You keep saying ‘we’ and ‘us’. What about you, Captain? Is it just your team you want me for?”

Steve chuckled, lifting his gaze back to the steely one.

“I’m optional,” he answered, “What I told you in the Raft stands. You’re a part of my team; no one touches you without your permission.”

Bucky’s head tilted the other way and Steve’s eyes were drawn back to his neck.

“So joining your pack is optional, too?”

“Of course,” Steve huffed, shaking his head and looking away again, “I can’t hide my interest in you, but I can control it. You can have a home with us if you want it, and you will be safe there. Even from me.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Bucky said in a low voice, pressing against Steve’s wounded side harder than necessary.

“Good,” Steve said, hiding his pain because he didn’t think Bucky had hurt him on purpose, “because that’s the last thing I want.”

Bucky eyed him, then lowered his chin. 

“If we survive, I might consider your offer,” Bucky said quietly.

Steve didn’t let himself ask which offer he was referring to.

“That’s all I can ask of you.”

Someone rapped on the door frame and both Bucky and Steve looked up to find Tony poking his head inside. Letting out a sigh, Steve flashed Bucky a smile and wrapped his comm unit back around his ear. The moment was definitely over, though hopefully he had gotten through to the angry Omega.

“Yes, Tony?” Steve asked patiently. 

“Ah, I was wondering if Buckit-” Steve growled and Tony held up both hands, “If _Barnes_ could tell us about the human-hellhound-zombie in the hall?”

“Human…” Steve frowned, swinging his head to look at Bucky. “What?”

“Might as well show you,” Bucky said, pushing himself to his feet.

Still frowning, because a human-hellhound-zombie just sounded _bad_ , Steve followed Bucky into the hall. Tony stepped out of the way and Steve could see Natasha at the end of the hall. Bucky started toward her and he took a moment to give her another once-over. Still too pale, leaning against the wall to support herself. Carrying her wasn’t an option; she’d nearly shot him for suggesting it once he’d gotten her patched up. Damned woman was as stubborn as he was.

Bucky led them back down the path they’d followed to get there, past the battered walls, to where they had found the first hellhound corpses on the floor. Someone had cleared away the collapsed ceiling tiles, revealing that below them was one that was far more human.

Steve didn’t bother to hide how audibly he swallowed.

“Okay,” he said tightly, “human-hellhound-zombie. That’s swell.”

Pointing upward, at the hole in the ceiling, Bucky said, “I tried to avoid them by climbing up there. Two of those things chased after me, forced me back down again. One had a fully-loaded handgun and could use it. Well.”

“Suuuper swell,” Steve said weakly, then straightened his shoulders. He was the leader here, for Christ’s sake. There was no time to freak out about the virus mutating. That was Tony’s job.

“Doesn’t change anything,” he said, using his Captain’s voice. “We keep going down. Make it to the seventh floor and deal with Clarkson.” 

“If he’s still there,” Tony interjected.

“If he’s still there,” Steve agreed with forced patience. He looked over to Bucky, sweaty and wet, sooty as hell and mangled from top to bottom. Cleaning the man’s wounds hadn’t done all that much good since he could do nothing for either his internal damage, or his heavy bruising. For the first time, Bucky looked tired, exhausted even, and Steve knew that was bad simply because he was letting it show. 

Nat wasn’t in any better condition. Though they had rushed her to the medical bay, he had barely been able to stop the bleeding. The metal had pierced her thigh where she’d already been bitten, poison seeping into the puncture so her healing factor couldn’t kick in. A few inches higher and it would have pierced her artery, and even her enhanced metabolism and his battlefield medicine wouldn’t have been able to do the trick. As it was, he had had to pump Natasha full of painkillers and adrenaline as well as force her to drink a cocktail of carbs and protein that was supposed to be meal for two days. It was an extremely nasty concoction, but it was already helping her body to replenish the blood loss that would have killed a normal person.

Neither Steve, nor Tony, had ended up with many injuries. The former thanks to his suit, the Steve because Tony had taken the brunt of the attacks from the hellhounds while they escaped to the medbay. It was only when they had been rescuing Bucky that Steve had been badly injured, since the wounds from the explosion had healed quickly.

“We need to take a break,” Steve informed the team. “There’s a changing room near the staircase we secured earlier. We could rest there.” Away from the mauled corpses scattered all around them. “Eat, maybe let anything not poisoned heal up a bit more.”

Bucky complained, “I don’t have anything left,” and Steve couldn’t help but stare at him.

“The hell do you mean, you don’t have anything left?” Steve demanded.

The Omega shrugged.

“Exactly what I said. I ran out of what I looted ages ago and only found a few more candy bars while I was alone.”

Steve stared.

“Are you telling me you weren’t given food supplies?”

Bucky frowned, looking at Steve as if he had grown a second head.

“You would know.”

Opening his mouth, Steve shut it again with a clack of his teeth. There were supposed to have been the same protein bars Steve had in his bag. Enough to last them the full eighteen hours, just in case he was wrong about how long they would need. He wasn’t exactly sure who was supposed to have supplied them, but it was someone in the Raft or at S.H.I.E.L.D. and Steve was going to find out who.

Shaking his head, Steve said, “I didn’t know, but I have extra. Nat, you’ve still got enough?”

“Plenty,” she assured, the corners of her lips pulling down at the memory of the goop she’d already had to drink once today. While it didn’t have a bad taste, there was something inherently off-putting in the consistency of it that made it difficult to swallow.

Grinning at her, Steve said, “Sorry, you’ll need to have another. Let’s go. I’ll take point. Tony, you’re in the rear.”

“I’m fine,” Bucky snapped.

“I want you to protect Nat,” Steve said evenly.

“ _I’m_ fine,” Natasha protested.

Sometimes Steve felt as if he ran a preschool and not a highly-trained para-military team.

“You’re not fine,” Steve snapped. “Bucky?”

The angry Omega shot him a long look, then nodded. 

They fell into formation and took the few twists and turns to the changing room. It wasn’t very large, but it had a door with a lock and wasn’t as cold as the rest of the floor. Possibly that was because of all the damage Bucky had done to the cooling pipes, but Steve would take it. 

They filed into the room and Steve shut the door, locking it behind them. The room itself had a line of lockers around three walls and benches in the middle of the floor. The floor was tiled, drains in the center, and three showers lining the fourth wall. It was white on white on white, which was hard on the eyes, but they weren’t there for the aesthetics.

Tony sat down on a bench, sighing, while Natasha leaned against a row of lockers and slid down to the floor. Dropping his pack on the bench next to Tony, Steve opened it and pulled out a small bottle of water. There were plenty of protein bars left, but both Bucky and Nat needed more than that. He grabbed the packet of nutrition powder Bruce had designed for him. Natasha had her own recipe, the packet she pulled from her pack decorated with a tiny spider logo. His had a red and blue shield, because Bruce wasn’t exactly a creative artist. If Bucky stuck around, Bruce would design a formula for him as well, but for now Steve would give Bucky one of his own. He was roughly Steve’s size and his general body type. 

Adding the packet to the water, he replaced the lid and shook the bottle hard. The water turned brown as mud and just as thick. He looked over at Bucky, watching him go through the lockers, pulling out white coverall uniforms and grimacing at their sizes.

“Here,” Steve called, approaching him with the finished shake outstretched, “Drink this. It’s really good for you, but, fair warning, it tastes horrible.”

Tossing another uniform back into the locker, Bucky looked up at Steve and something strange flickered through his eyes. 

“It looks gross,” Bucky said, gaze dropping to the offering that he nevertheless took from Steve. Removing the cap, he took a swig, his cheeks bulging with the thick liquid before his eyes bulged out as he tried to swallow. Steve watched, entertained despite himself as Bucky pursed his lips, and tried to swallow again. His face went through a wide range of expressions, scrunching up ridiculously. Finally he swallowed, then coughed and choked.

“Take it like a man, Barnes!” Natasha taunted.

When Steve looked over, she was drinking her own slush straight-faced. When Bucky met her eyes, she made a show of taking another swig, swallowing it, her face perfectly relaxed. Wincing, Steve quickly looked back to see how Bucky was taking the challenge. And it was a challenge, if he’d ever seen one.

To Steve’s relief, Bucky just continued to glare, lifted the drink back to his mouth, and swallowed. He drank slowly, steadily, until the entire bottle was empty. Then he lowered it, and crumpled the plastic in his fist before throwing it into an empty stall.

Steve raised an eyebrow, he just had to ask, “Are you going to puke?”

Bucky glared at him but said nothing, his teeth clenched tightly together.

“Mm,” Steve hummed. “You get used to it.”

“Fuck you, Rogers.”

Steve laughed.

“I’ve always wondered what those taste like,” Tony said conversationally, “but I don’t want to get fat.”

“Oh, heaven forbid,” Steve laughed. “Pepper would surely leave you, then.”

“It’d go right to my ass, so you’re damn right she would. My ass is my best feature.”

“Suits wouldn’t fit, either,” Natasha said with a yawn.

Steve nodded.

“So you’d lose Pepper and we’d have to kick you off the team.”

Tony flicked him off.

“You can’t get rid of me. I pay for everything.”

Steve watched as all the calories hit Bucky. He started blinking faster, eyelids slipping shut before he jerked them open again. The multitude of injuries were pushing his body into overdrive, even with the poison preventing his healing. Now, with actual energy to burn, it wanted nothing more than to rest.

“We still have half an hour,” Steve reminded Bucky. “If you’d like to rest.”

What Steve expected from Bucky was a complete shutdown of the idea. Any suggestion that he was weaker than them, or that he needed something they didn’t had never been well-met. But this time, Bucky just looked at him with hazy eyes and nodded. No protest, no posturing, no verbal sparring. The exhaustion was worse than Steve had thought. 

Pulling several uniform shirts from the lockers, he sank to the floor where he stood. He curled up against the lockers, pulling the too-small shirts over his flesh shoulders as a makeshift blanket. Between one breath and the next, he seemed to drop off to sleep. At least, he looked as if he was asleep. It was either that, or a wonderful imitation. Whichever it was, Steve expected that half-an-hour lying down would still do him some good.

Against her locker, Natasha must have decided Bucky had the right idea as she closed her eyes as well. Within moments, only Steve and Tony were still awake. Making his own shake, Steve took a seat next to Tony and began the arduous task of forcing it down his throat. Bruce had tried to make it taste better, but with little success thus far.

“Is it really so bad?” Tony asked.

Steve turned to look and found the Omega watching him. Shrugging, he screwed the cap back on. Unlike Nat and Bucky, he didn’t need as much to keep him going at the moment.

“It’s pretty damned nasty, but Bruce tries, and we’re worse off without it. Way too much weight to carry to keep up with my metabolism.”

“I know, Cap,” Tony chuckled. “He tells me all about his personal pet project all the time. So did he fix you up?”

Nodding, Steve glanced towards Bucky where he was sleeping on the floor. Even asleep there was a sense of mass, a presence to him. His body was loosely curled up, but not exactly relaxed. His dark eyelashes fanned over his cheeks, the stubble dark and shadowing his jaw. Like a sleeping predator, even though it was muted, there was still a sense of threat to him.

“Offered him a place on the team.”

Tony chuckled.

“Of course you did. What did he say?”

Shrugging, Steve looked down at his shake.

“He’d think about it.”

“Sounds like our Grumpy Cat. What’re you gonna do when he says no?”

“When?” Steve repeated, swinging his head to look sidelong at his friend. “Not if?”

“Not if,” Tony confirmed, “Sorry, Cap. I know you’re compatible and all, but he’s the independent kind. If you had a few days, a week, you’d get through to him. You don’t, Stevie. You got until the end of the mission and that won’t be enough.”

“I can try,” Steve said, looking down at his shake again. He knew Tony was right, but he wasn’t going to give up. Not until Bucky walked away to pursue…whatever it was he would do. Steve hoped that wasn’t to go after Fury, but he expected it would be.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, you’re the only one I believe could actually do it.”

Steve sighed; it didn’t make him feel better.

“Why?” Steve asked, curious despite himself.

“Well,” Tony said teasingly, “he’s now a Grumpy Cat instead of Murder On The Hoof with you.”

Steve mouthed ‘murder on the hoof’ to himself, half-offended, half-amused. Tony was right, Bucky did project menace like nobody he had ever met.

“I think he has warmed up to us a bit,” Steve agreed, his eyes returning to Bucky’s sleeping form. He was clearly tired, bruised, and dirty from head to toe. Nevertheless, he was still one of the most attractive people Steve had ever seen.

Tony didn't respond, stopped moving so even the suit didn't whir with sound. He was so uncharacteristically still that Steve turned to look at him. He found Tony watching him, the suit hiding his expression, but Steve knew it was serious.

“What?” he asked, somewhat reluctantly.

“What do you see in him? Like, really,” Tony insisted when Steve frowned. “You’ve always been the kind of man who insisted what was inside mattered, not the looks. So, what do you see in this guy? He’s a bastard, verbally abusive, sowing discord whenever he sees an opening. He lies, hides whatever he can. You hate guys like him, but not _him_.”

Steve licked his lips. It was an unexpectedly deep question, asked quietly and seriously, and very much unlike Tony. It deserved an honest answer, even if Steve wasn’t sure he wanted to answer at all. Any answer would be intensely personal.

“There are…a lot of reasons. Obviously, there’s the physical. A blind man would find him attractive.”

The suit made a pretty entertaining approximation of a double-take.

“You like them beefy?!” 

Steve bit back a laugh that would have been far too loud.

“That’s not it, no,” Steve swallowed, knowing this was the first time he was going to say this out loud. “You often ask why I don’t take people to bed?”

“You live like a monk,” Tony said with a shrug. “It’s curious, not to mention it makes my balls weep with sympathy.”

Shaking his head, Steve couldn’t help but be amused. 

“Well it’s got nothin’ to do with what you usually suggest. Not morals, or anything ridiculous like that. It’s about…hurting somebody.”

“Oh please, Steve. That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say. Sure, our life is dangerous, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to hurt anyone you fall in love with.”

Steve shook his head again.

“I don’t mean emotionally. I’m afraid of _literally_ hurting them.” 

Steve put his hand on the edge of the metal bench they were sitting on and pulled, mauling the flimsy metal as if it was made from paper mâché. When he let go, the whole edge was pulled upwards, the indentations of Steve’s fingers deeply engraved in the twisted metal. It had taken hardly any effort at all.

“If I let go during sex and hurt somebody…”

Tony snorted, “Please, how could _you_ hurt somebody?”

Sighing, Steve looked back down at his hands and the shake. He tilted it to the side, the slush shifting from side to side. No one understood, not unless they were enhanced themselves. Bruce understood, Natasha. Tony couldn’t imagine how actively he had to consider holding anything when he was angry, when he wasn’t in complete control of himself.

“Do you leave bruises on Pepper sometimes?” he asked, even though it made him uncomfortable.

“It’s perfectly normal,” Tony said a bit defensively. “Sometimes sex is rough.”

Once again, Steve looked at Bucky. A lock of hair had fallen on his nose and he kept wrinkling it unconsciously in his sleep. It was positively adorable.

“You realise, if I did that, I could break bones? Shatter them?” His hand gripped the bench again, ripped a piece off with enough force it didn’t even screech. “That didn’t take much of effort, Tony. Imagine what would happen if it had been a human arm?”

“Uh,” Tony said, even his wit failing him for a moment. “Ow?”

“Yeah, ow,” Steve nodded. “It’s terrifying, the potential to hurt somebody if I let go, forget myself, or just was overexcited. It makes the whole idea of sex…unappealing.” Steve watched bucky rub his nose on his shoulder, face all scrunched up, yet still asleep. “With him I wouldn’t have to worry about any of it. He’s easily as strong and durable as I am. I wouldn’t have to be careful all the time. I could…let go, with him. Do you have any idea how attractive that is?”

“Is that why you never…you know, challenged Pepper?”

Slowly, grinning, Steve looked back over at Tony.

“No. That’s because you love her. She loves you. Why would I mess that up?”

“I dunno, because you’re lonely?” Tony said, but without any conviction. “What about Natasha?”

Steve made a face.

“She’s like my sister, if I’d ever had a sister.”

“Thor?”

Steve arched both his eyebrows.

“Tony,” he said teasingly, “did you just suggest I try to court another Alpha? That’s not done for a reason.”

“Bruce?” Tony offered somewhat desperately. 

Steve could feel himself grinning wryly.

“Bruce is a lovely person, but we have no chemistry,” Steve said mildly.

“Yeah, well,” Tony sighed, “It’s not a good reason to be alone.”

Steve pushed at Tony’s shoulder, making the suit sway and Tony squawked in outrage.

“I’m not alone, I’m just not having sex.” He quickly changed the subject. “How’d you know about our compatibility anyway?” 

“Nuh-uh, no way,” Tony said, waggling a finger, “Not getting off that easy. It cannot just be because you won’t break him. What’s got you so into your Buckitty? Is it just the compatibility?”

“My,” Steve rubbed at his eyes, “Jesus, Tony.”

“What? Even I thought your nickname was adorable. Though, I’ll admit that I’m disappointed you didn’t like my names better.”

Steve sighed.

“What’s it matter to you?”

“You’re our Alpha. It matters.”

Steve gave him a flat look.

“You’re really not going to let this go, are you?”

Though he couldn’t see it, Steve knew he was grinning.

“Nope. What do you see in the angry psychotic Omega?”

“He’s not psychotic,” Steve snapped.

“Semantics. Answer the question.”

Steve sighed.

“He’s smart, irreverent; I like his sense of humor. He has the potential to be a really good person; it’s as simple as that.”

“Potential? That’s it?”

“That’s it. Now answer _my_ question. How’d you know?”

Steve looked over at Tony and wondered if he’d be wearing that shit-eating grin of his. The one he always wore when he thought he was smarter than everyone else. He was, but he didn’t have to be such a dick about it.

“Can I just say I know you, or do you want more than that?”

“Not hardly,” Steve said with a grin. “You pushed, I’m pushing.”

“I remember how you acted with me, even when you didn’t like me. You do that with him.”

“Do...what?” Steve asked, baffled.

“You’re constantly watching him. You’re aware of him no matter what else is going on. If he’s close enough, you make a point of catching his scent. You listen to him, even when you disagree with him. You give his opinion weight, just because it’s his. You look for opportunities to touch him, and you are not an especially touchy-feely person.”

“Huh,” was all Steve could think to say. It was the kind of analysis he expected from Natasha, not from Tony. Of course, as aware as he was of Tony, the Omega had always been as aware of him. “I’m that obvious?’

“To me? Yeah,” Tony confirmed; Steve just knew he was laughing at him. “Anyway, nap time’s over. Wake your boy, I’ll get Nat.”

Sighing, Steve shook his head and smiled as Tony got up to wake Nat. Getting up himself, he went to Bucky’s makeshift bed and knelt at his side. He hesitated, then reached down and gripped the Omega’s ankle. It took a single shake and he was looking down into steel grey eyes that instantly made his heart race. Only Peggy had ever made him feel like that with a look.

“Time to get back to work,” he said stiffly, standing again.

Bucky nodded, throwing the pilfered uniforms aside. For a moment, he looked as if he was about to say something, but only shook his head and got up without a word. Part of Steve thought it was unusual, but frankly he didn’t know enough about Bucky to be sure. The Omega was quiet and garrulous in turns, that could mean anything, and pushing never ended well.

“You have one minute to be ready. Same formation as we got here. We’re headed to the stairs, then straight to the seventh floor. Any questions? Now’s the time.”

Both Tony and Natasha shook their heads, but Bucky, unsurprisingly, had something to say.

“I’m out of ammo. Left my bag in the ceiling a ways back. Gonna need to go get it before we move on, or I’m all hand to hand.”

“All right,” Steve nodded to Natasha, “Hand him my gun. He’ll take point, lead us to his gear. Tony, you’re still in the rear. Let’s move; we’re almost done with this hellhole.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a mandatory break point.
> 
> If you have been reading this non stop, please get up, go for a walk, or go to sleep. We'll still be here later. <3


	13. Chapter 13

They tromped out of the locker room together, Steve on point, with Tony in the rear. It still stung that Steve had felt she was hurt enough to need a babysitter, but Nat wasn’t going to complain again. That would only make her look like a child. With Barnes and Tony around, that was the last impression she wanted to make. It would only encourage them to give Steve shit.

The corridors were empty as they retraced Barnes’ steps. Rather, it was empty of anything living. The corpses both they and Barnes had left behind remained, sprawled, bloody and lifeless on the floor. Of the living hounds, however, there was no sign. No sign of the humanoid ones, either. Though there had seemed to be a never-ending number of them earlier, now there was just nothing.

Like they’d never been.

In the same corridor as the humanoid hellhound - Natasha would _not_ call them zombies - Barnes stopped them. He took a running start, jumped, planted one foot against the wall at hip height and vaulted up to slap the palm of his flesh hand against a plasterboard panel and push it out of the way. He landed again, head tilted up to look at the hole made in the ceiling panels. Then he rolled his shoulders and repeated the maneuver, this time with both hands, metal and flesh, catching something on the inside so he could pull himself into the crawlspace. 

A moment later, he dropped back again and his pack fell out after him. As Natasha watched him catch the black bag, kneel, open it, and start pulling out spare clips of ammo, she shouldn’t shake the sense that something wasn’t right. What, specifically, she couldn’t have said, but _something_. 

“Anyone else think it’s weird that we haven’t been attacked again?” Tony asked. 

“Just a little,” Steve confirmed. He was standing at one end of the hall, Tony at the other. They were keeping guard while Barnes retrieved his bag and Natasha just…stood there. It was so wonderful being babied. Her leg hurt, sure, but she’d had worse.

Barnes shrugged.

“I’ll take this over the last hour,” he said reasonably.

“Yeah,” Tony said, “but it’s _weird_. They were trying so hard to kill us, and now nothing. Did we scare them off, or are they planning something else, or what?”

“We assume they’re planning something,” Steve said. “Speculation will just make you nervous, Tony. Try not to think about it. Anything new from JARVIS or Bruce?”

“Who’s Bruce?” Barnes asked.

Thankfully, Steve still didn’t trust Barnes enough that he gave more than simply, “A scientist who works with Gamma radiation.”

“Not really,” Tony answered, “They’ve ruled out hemorrhagic fever, so whatever it was that took out the S.T.R.I.K.E. teams, it wasn’t what Clarkson was working on. Likely he stole someone else’s work, so they’ve had to look at all the current projects. Hopefully, it actually is a current project and not something that got mothballed.”

“Great,” Steve said cheerfully, “I just love working without proper intel.”

Having reloaded and checked his weapons, Barnes stood and swung his bag onto his back. The thumped heavily on his back, the sound betraying the weight of it. Barnes didn’t wince or stagger beneath it, just shifted his legs to root his stance more. She wondered briefly if it was his insane pain threshold at work or something else. 

Barnes rolled his shoulders under the taut straps and nodded to indicate he was ready.

“Let’s get moving,” he said shortly.

Steve nodded, gesturing for the group to form up. Tony started heading toward them, but Barnes didn’t move right away. Standing still, he tilted his head to the side. Listening. Natasha watched him warily, but didn’t say anything. It had been clear last time Steve wasn’t going to heed her warning on how batshit their temporary teammate had become. 

When Tony caught up to him, Barnes came back to himself, falling in beside Natasha. If he’d noticed her staring, he didn’t mention it, which was odd. Normally, he was so prickly she’d get poked if she sneezed wrong. Then again, he wasn’t exactly at peak health and wellness. None of them were.

They were a sad bunch, Natasha had to admit. The one in the best condition was Tony, the suit having taken only cosmetic damage. There was the problem of food and water, however. It had been hours already, and even though Tony was used to abusing his body, it didn’t mean his effectiveness wouldn’t drop, his blasts become less accurate. Pepper and Steve said he got smarter when he pushed himself like this, but Natasha wasn’t sure that was true.

With Steve, it wasn’t his injuries that had her worried. Objectively, he was in the best condition. There was that gash on his ribs, but it wasn’t very serious. It was Barnes’ needling, how strongly he reacted to it, that worried Natasha. Normally, Steve had great instincts regarding people, but they were leading him astray this time. His ploy for Barnes to resume his former position as XO had been good, so she had backed him up, stepped quietly aside, but that was the only action Steve had taken regarding the former Sergeant she agreed with. Barnes was used to being a lone wolf. Making him responsible for a team would force him to remember to account for them in his plans, actions, and reactions. 

For the most part, it had worked. Barnes had watched her back, had watched Tony’s without so much as a millisecond of hesitation. Yet, he had continued to be aggressive, manipulative, and downright nasty. He saw as well as she did the effect he had on Steve, and he played with that attention when it suited him. It left her incredulous with how Steve perked up whenever Barnes did something anyone else would have considered common decency, or, god forbid, was actually nice to him. Then when he batted his eyes, or lifted his chin… Christ. Natasha had thought Steve was above such petty flirtations she had learned in her first lessons at the Red Room. But no, Steve was hooked, focussing way too much attention on Barnes. 

Barnes wasn’t exactly in a mint condition either. He had lost some of his clothes and was bloodied from head to toe, but he was still moving under his own power and moving well. Somehow the bastard had either managed to avoid any serious injury, or just wasn’t letting it show. Either way, he was fighting capable and that was most important right now. Admittedly, she was impressed how he had managed to keep from being torn apart. The amount of hellhound bodies he’d left behind was impressive as well, even for her standards. After knowing Steve for the last few years, her standards were very high. 

Natasha was in even worse condition. Even after the meals and the rest she still felt a lot more shaky than she would like. Not only had she lost a staggering amount of blood, the muscles in her thigh had been significantly damaged; first, when the hound had bit her, next, when the damned shrapnel had gone through her leg. Lastly, when Steve had had to cut her open to remove the bent steel and stitch her up properly. Her leg was frightfully weak, and painful as hell, the muscle shivering whenever she too much weight on it. 

They finally passed the last of Barnes’ corpses and made it into the ones that they had made while getting to Barnes. There were none of the humanoid ones that Steve, Natasha and Tony had yet to see alive, but there were still plenty. They had been fierce in guarding their attack on Barnes, trying to keep the team away, keep them from their lost teammate. 

There had been an uncommon intensity to those attacks, something that went against all natural animal instinct. The creatures kept attacking; no matter how wounded or mauled they were, they still attacked. Kept going until they died. Even then, their brethren had walked right over the corpses to get to their prey. 

When the team had finally found Barnes, it made sense. He’d been surrounded, so lost to his battle haze he hadn’t even realized they were there. The little hole he’d found himself was the best he could have done. There were so many creatures, so tightly packed and so little space, he’d found himself in was a death trap. Barnes must have known what would happen going in there, or at least once he was inside. He had made a stand though, and taken plenty of the creatures down. If the team hadn’t shown up when they did, though, he would be dead.

Not that he had acknowledged that, just yelled at Steve for making a hard call he’d ended up on the wrong side of. 

“What’s the hold up, Barnes?” Tony demanded. 

Pausing, Natasha looked back to see Barnes a few steps behind her, his rifle held high, but expression distant. His head was tilted ever-so-slightly to the left, as if he were listening to something, but Natasha couldn’t say to what. There was no sound in the vicinity other than the team. Despite his disregard of her senses, she was trained to listen for her enemies; so was Steve. Neither of them heard what he did. 

She found it hard to look at him. When he was this still, this intensely focused, he lost the sense of self he delighted in pushing at everybody. He became this soulless, effective thing that terrified her with how familiar it felt. It reminded Natasha too closely of the Red Room, like the training she had done her best to erase from herself. 

A shiver of unease trickled down her back. Between the injuries Barnes had sustained, the doubtless psychological damage from finding himself abandoned, not to mention the current fever, there was a good chance his ramped-up immune system was compromised. As resilient as the serum made her, Steve, or Barnes, it wasn’t magic. Science and biology could still be overwhelmed. She didn’t particularly want to have an unstable, possibly deluded super-soldier at her back.

“Let’s go, Sergeant Sneaky Boots,” Tony said impatiently, “I have better places to be than hanging out in an Umbrella Corp offshoot.”

Natasha expected Barnes to turn on Tony immediately, the way he usually responded to anyone besides Steve trying to give him orders. She had already half-turned, ready to intervene, when Barnes suddenly re-focussed. His gaze slid from Tony, to Natasha and he simply hurried on, catching up to Natasha without a single comment. Steve was also looking at Barnes, his eyes worried, but he didn’t say anything.

“All right, Buck?” Steve asked, having already shortened the man’s nickname because he was Steve and he was ridiculous.

Natasha cast Barnes a sidelong look, but she still couldn’t put her finger on what was off. Except his temperament. He was far more calm than he had been up till now, the ever-present anger vanished after he had woken from his nap. Maybe whatever Steve had said had sunk in, but she doubted that. This was something else.

Perhaps it was something that had happened when he’d been alone? That didn’t add up either, since he had been so angry once they’d come back for him. Even so, Barnes hadn’t said much about the time he’d had to fare alone. All they knew they had read from the carnage he had left behind. He’d been forced into that tiny room, had chosen to fight to the death. Surely that would have affected him somehow, but as far as Natasha could see, it hadn’t. None of it had.

Because, she reminded herself, he was a cold, unfeeling, bastard who was bad for Steve. If only she could get Steve to see that. Hell, even Tony would be a better choice, even with all the drama that would cause with Pepper.

When they arrived at the stairs, Steve keyed the lock.

“Tony and I will take point heading down.” 

Natasha scowled but held her tongue. It was clear he was babying them again. The rear was the safest place, since they had seen no evidence that there were hounds at their back. Only down, towards Clarkson and the seventh floor. It burned, his thought that she needed to be protected. Her bad leg meant she was the weakest link, but she could still hold her own and didn’t need a big Alpha to protect her. Steve wouldn’t think that, but she’d dealt with so many Alphas that would, her pride stung even when it wasn’t true.

A lot like Barnes, she imagined. 

She looked over at him now, expecting him to protest as he always did, but he was quiet. A strange, distant expression sat on his features, his eyes staring into the dark stairwell. This meant Steve’s orders went smoothly, Tony and Steve taking point and Natasha and Barnes following, but it was too strange for her to feel grateful.

They only had to descend two flights of stairs, but Natasha wished they had another way to go. The stairwell was full of strange shadows cast from the lights illuminating the floors above. Not their floor, or the one above, but about sub-level four. The lack of direct light cast strange shadows and glowing wisps shone down from between the railings, doing nothing to help visibility, and playing tricks with their peripheral vision. Around and below them was the faint, green shine of the emergency lights, which didn’t make the space any less creepy. 

When she chanced a glance over the railing to the green-tinged, dim space below, there was no sign of movement. No sign of the hounds or even the strange, humanoid monsters. It was unnaturally quiet again. That eerie silence that had unnerved them so badly when they had first entered this terrible place had returned. She hadn’t realised how the strain of the quiet had affected her until it was back.

“Someone busted out the lights,” Steve called, pointing at the walls where, sure enough, the overhead bulbs were smashed, bits of glass littering the ground. 

“Looks like somebody smashed every light fixture they saw from sub-floor five all the way down,” Tony added, rising several feet into the air to take a closer look. “Likely something blunt, though I’m not sure how they managed to get up this high. Maybe those humanoid zombie hellhounds threw something. Or maybe they have laser eyes, I mean, why not? All this is crazy anyhow. Well, I don’t see any scorch marks, so I guess no laser eyes.”

“Lucky us,” Steve said dryly. 

“Yes, we are,” Tony said loftily, “JARVIS has some info on Clarkson he thinks is important.”

Steve stopped, quickly gesturing for them to set a perimeter on the landing.

“All right,” he said when they were in place. “Go ahead, JARVIS.”

JARVIS’ cultured voice projected from Tony’s speakers, “Specifically, I have acquired background information on your target. Perhaps it will be of assistance if the need arises to talk Dr. Clarkson down.”

“Finally,” Natasha sighed. 

“You’re actually thinking of taking this guy in?” Barnes asked, but without the heat that should have accompanied the question. 

“I keep all options open until they’re closed,” Steve answered firmly. “JARVIS?”

“Victor Samuel Clarkson,” JARVIS started again, “was born into an old, wealthy family on the twenty fifth of March, 1974. He was the only child, born to Margaret and Jacob Clarkson. In 1982, both parents died in a car accident. With no surviving relatives, he became the ward of the state until he reached the age of fourteen, when he was emancipated by the court. 

“Clarkson studied biochemistry at Yale University and completed the master’s programme at eighteen -”

“Ha, I’m smarter,” Tony said triumphantly. 

“Yes, Sir,” JARIVS said patiently, “Clarkson went on to pursue his doctorate in virology, also at Yale. In both instances, Clarkson graduated at the top of his class. While there, he met his future wife, Melissa Ashcroft. They married after they graduated in 1996.

“That same year, at the age of twenty-two, he was employed at Harmony Research Institute, an institution dedicated to the advancement of the medical industry. He published several papers during this time on the use of viruses as vectors to cure cancer. However, after four years, it was discovered he was using human subjects for his research before they had gone through proper trials. Harmony Research subsequently fired the doctor for unethical practices.”

Tony let out a low whistle.

“All right, so we know he’s not a good dude.”

“Correct, Sir,” JARVIS answered. “At least one person is known to have died from Clarkson’s research. However, Clarkson fled to Bosnia as they have no extradition treaty with the United States. Records indicate, he bribed several officials and set up a new research lab, experimenting on Bosnian prisoners. 

“The world took notice of Dr. Clarkson when one of the prisoners transferred to his illegal laboratory turned out to be an American investigative journalist. When his editor and family came looking for him, it pulled the entire conspiracy into daylight. A joint CIA and Army task force was sent in to rescue the missing journalist and arrest Dr. Clarkson. Though they shut down his research laboratory, they were unable to find Clarkson, any of the missing prisoners, and the journalist remains missing to this day.” JARVIS said.

“He just went missing?” Steve repeated skeptically. “Then how did he end up on U.S. soil, working for us?”

“Cross referencing Stark Industry files, it appears that S.H.I.E.L.D. offered Dr. Clarkson a deal. They would grant him immunity, and in return he would work for them at the Three Sisters Complex,” JARVIS supplied evenly.

Barnes snorted, not even bothering commenting. He looked entirely unsurprised at what happened to Clarkson.

“Stark Industry files?” Steve repeated, looking toward Tony with an eyebrow raised. “Did you hack S.H.I.E.L.D. again?”

“Had ten free minutes,” Tony answered glibly, but there was tightness in his voice. 

“Again?” Barnes asked.

Steve took a long breath instead of answering. For his part, Tony wasn’t bragging for once. He obviously didn't like what he had heard.

“So, S.H.I.E.L.D. has crazy doctors on its payroll, too,” Steve said conversationally. “Nat, how many charges did you bring with you? Enough to drop this place?”

Natasha held back her smile.

“This building, sure, but not all of them.”

“If we take out the server room,” Tony pointed out, “they lose all their data.”

Steve nodded decisively.

“Then this building is enough.”

“Research is not done alone. As long as even one lab assistant lives, this research can be recovered, server or no server. It will simply take more time,” Barnes said. 

The man was a veritable ray of sunshine. 

“This isn’t the kind of place that shares research,” Natasha pointed out. “Anyone who worked on these projects was probably here when this went down, meaning…”

“They’re probably dead,” Steve finished. 

“A confirmed kill is one that yields an identifiable body,” Barnes contradicted. “Anything else is just speculation and wishful thinking. We can’t assume anything we cannot confirm.”

In moments like this, Natasha really wanted to kick him somewhere painful. Shame he was probably expecting it.

“Thank you, Sergeant, for that lesson in terminology they teach privates at basic,” Steve said dryly, “Wouldn’t have occurred to me otherwise. JARVIS,” Steve said a little louder, as if expecting Barnes to argue, “did Clarkson have any family besides his wife? Children?”

Natasha watched Barnes from the corner of her eye and saw how his jaw tensed, but Steve had gotten him good with that last volley, and he _knew_ it. People always were surprised when Steve unleashed his sarcasm as a lethal weapon. She knew Steve wouldn’t have left blowing the server room as the only assurance that what the World Security Council was doing here had been stopped. Not when there were ten other buildings, potentially with backup servers.

“Ah, right,” Tony mused, “the video.”

“Records do not indicate any children,” JARVIS answered, “However, Bosnia does not have the best system of records and many of their files are stored in hard copy only.”

“Meaning physical files we can’t access, Cap,” Tony spelled out.

Natasha rolled her eyes, but Steve didn’t correct him that he knew that. 

“What video?” she asked.

Blowing out a hard breath, Steve shoved his hair off his forehead.

“Yeah, Cap,” Tony said overly-sweetly. “What vid -Ow!”

The soft clang of Steve’s knuckle against Tony’s helmet echoed through the stairwell. Tony immediately glared at Barnes, which was especially amusing since Steve was the one that had hit him. Not that Natasha laughed; then Steve might feel bad enough to stop.

“Clarkson sent a video threatening the World Security Council,” Steve answered, “That was how they knew there was a threat. In it, he says that, in retaliation for the deaths of his wife and child, he will be unleashing a pandemic. His exact words were, ‘No one will be safe.’”

“Very specific, that,” Tony grumbled. “There was no indication of how he wanted to release the virus, or where he wanted to release it. Very generic scary-boo terrorism tactics.”

“And you kept this from us, because..?” Natasha asked.

“Because Fury asked me to,” Steve answered flatly, “Though, mostly, because it didn’t seem mission critical. I’m more suspicious that Fury wanted it hidden than what was actually said in the video. It’s not exactly national security information.”

“Hmm,” Natasha hummed speculatively. “If the video was as vague as you say, it’s interesting that the World Council got so scared so quickly,” Natasha said slowly, turning the facts in her head, trying to make sense of it all. “They already had him under lock and key; it’s not like it was hard to find him…”

“They knew what exactly he was dabbling in,” Steve finished her sentence, as always in tune with her line of thinking. He was always like that, sometimes almost reading her mind. It left her with with a wave of warmth, the still-surprising sense of belonging, that working closely with Steve brought her. Not only did he respect her, he actively spent time trying to follow her line of thought, which resulted in seamless teamwork that she hadn’t experienced with any of her previous commanders. She couldn’t imagine bonding with an Alpha that wouldn’t respect and accept this connection she had with Steve.

Steve caught her eye as he said what they were both thinking, nodding lightly to acknowledge that this was what they did best. Teamwork. A working relationship they both appreciated. 

“I hate it when you two do that,” Tony grumbled.

“If it’s about his kid and wife,” Barnes said, “then he’s not going to be simply talked out of this. He’s already proven he doesn't have empathy towards others if he could do that. People like that rarely, if ever, feel love and, if they do, it’s the possessive, toxic kind. He will want to spread as much mayhem and pain as he can, while he can.”

Natasha felt her eyebrows rise. Not at what Barnes had said, because she agreed with him. Steve had probably also came to the same conclusion. It surprised her because Barnes had understood it. With how bitter and disillusioned he appeared, she didn't expect him to actually stop and think about another person, much like how he had described Clarkson.

Steve nodded. 

“That’s how we’ll treat him once we find him. If he’s willing to talk, good, but remember that our goal is to stop him and the threat he poses,” Steve said, making eye contact where he could. “Be on your toes, people. We might just get lucky and find Clarkson on the next floor. Move out.”

They rearranged themselves into the formation Steve had ordered earlier; Tony and him in the front, Natasha and Barnes in the back. Visibly slowing, Steve took the stairs, being wary as they approached what they hoped was their goal. 

 

They’d not taken two steps further when Natasha paused as she realised Barnes was lagging again. Falling back without any discernable reason yet again. This time, he was standing on the landing, his rifle half-lowered, and staring into the shadowed space between the stairs.

“I want to go down,” Barnes said suddenly, distractedly, not even looking at any of them.

“What do you mean?” Steve asked, stopping as well and partially turning towards Barnes. Perhaps Steve had noticed something was off about Barnes as well, because he watched him carefully, taking in the strange pose the other man was holding. The tense set of his shoulders, the hands too tight around the rifle stock, trigger on the inside of the guard where it did not belong.

Barnes turned, licking his lips and sweeping dark, unreadable eyes over each of them in turn.

“I need to go down,” he repeated.

Natasha narrowed her eyes at Barnes.

“We’re going down,” she pointed out.

Shaking his head, Barnes looked around the stairwell again as if it had all the answers.

“No. Further. All the way.”

The words were clipped, harsh. He kept his rifle loosely to hand, and she kept her eyes on his trigger finger. That was the weirdest part of this moment, the finger that should have been outside the trigger guard and wasn’t. That wasn’t just unsafe, it was reckless and unprofessional. The kind of mistake a rookie made, one that could get his own team killed. Barnes was far from an amateur.

“Why?” Steve asked, head tilted to the side as well, the way it did when he was puzzled by something. Good, he did see it then.

“Plan’s the seventh floor,” Tony pointed out, likely trying to help. Not that he was.

The tension in Barnes abruptly switched to agitation, muscles that had been mauled not an hour past straining at the tight bandages. The pain of Natasha’s own wound was throbbing, making her limp, and… 

There was no longer any sign of pain in the way Barnes stood or in the way he held his rifle. The _only_ odd thing about him was the placement of that single finger. Not one sign of weakness, an opening that she could take advantage of. There was agitation, nothing more.

“Bucky,” Steve started, likely planning on trying to calm the Omega, but she ignored that. Walking up to Barnes, she watched his gaze switch to her slowly. Too slowly, for a man who still considered her a threat. And he did. There was challenge in those eyes, pupils dilated from what she had thought was pain. 

Setting her jaw, Natasha caught his bandaged arm. He let her touch him, let her pull his arm free of the rifle so it hung loosely on the strap about his neck. That was all he did, though. He watched her, steady and still, as she teased the ends of the bandage free.

“What are you doing?” Steve demanded, the tension in his voice palpable.

Natasha didn’t answer, wouldn’t answer until she was sure. She jerked Barnes’ bandages off and held back her body's instinctive desire to gasp in shock. Even in the poor lighting of the stairs, she could see that his wounds were healed, despite the poison. Instead of pure, healthy skin, however, there were dark lines where the scars should be, and shadowed splotches fading to gray. 

The color of the hellhounds leathery grey skin.

“I’m sorry,” she said stepping back, letting the others see the truth.

Barnes never once took his eyes off her.

“I _need_ to go down,” he repeated.

Natasha turned to look at Steve and flinched at the expression on his face. The Alpha was standing stock-still, his eyes focused on Barnes’ arm, a shattered expression on his face. Failure, that’s what he thought this was, because he had left Barnes behind to save her. When Barnes turned on them, became one of those things and they had to put him down, he’d never forgive himself.

“Well, now we know what happened to the workers,” Tony quipped, but without any of his normal bravado. “Zombie dogs. One hell of a plague Clarkson cooked up. No wonder Bruce has been having such a hard time with this.”

“ _This_ ,” Steve spat, “is what they wanted us to save.”

“Fuck that,” Tony said crassly, “Let’s get out of here and let them nuke everything.”

A low growl left Barnes and he took a step forward. Natasha quickly got out of the way, but Steve was never that smart. Stepping between Tony and Barnes, he placed his palm over the latter’s chest.

“Okay,” he said gently, “We’ll go down.”

Barnes’ dark eyes snapped to Steve and he nodded, once, a short chop of his neck. Then he stepped back, taking a deep breath. As if that was all he needed to relax again. 

“Steve,” Tony protested.

“If we don’t deal with Clarkson, he doesn’t get his deal,” Steve said. “This… I’m not going to proceed as if this is going to kill him. Clarkson is still the end goal.”

Tony sighed.

“JARVIS, upload this…development to Bruce. Priority. Maybe it’ll help him sort through what he’s seeing.”

“We have to go down while I’m still myself enough to lead you to the source,” Barnes said suddenly, his voice raspy. “There’s no time for idle chatter.”

“‘Yourself enough’?” Steve repeated.

“‘Lead’?” Natasha demanded.

Barnes looked at Steve, his eyes dark and bitter.

“We all know there’s no cure for this. If I’m turning into one of them, if I’m going down…then I’m going to take them down with me.”

“You don’t know that,” Steve said sharply. “Clarkson might have made something. A cure, or it could be in the data Bruce and JARVIS are going through.”

Barnes’ lips curled in what could have been a sad smile, if one was being generous. 

“No sense wasting time; you have a deal to keep, Rogers. You try backing out now, and I swear I will end you.”

Strangely enough, that had Steve smiling.

“You heard the man,” Steve said, looking from Natasha to Tony, “Let’s get moving. Down; all the way.”


	14. Chapter 14

“Lead the way, Bucky,” Steve ordered, stepping sideways to let him pass.

Bucky started, and he wasn’t the only one surprised by the order. Romanova frowned and Stark’s head swiveled to stare at their Captain. They all knew he was compromised. Sick, but worse. Becoming…something. Maybe just becoming. Point was not the place for someone like him.

“You know where we’re going, Sergeant,” Steve said, his voice having shifted the way Bucky had noticed it could. Like Steve was putting on different hats. This one was his _command_ voice, all business, made a soldier instinctively pay attention. “So lead the way.”

Swallowing, Bucky nodded and pushed past the team. When put that way, it had made sense for him to lead. He did know where to go, leading the team down, down, into the complex, all the way to the bottom. He didn’t falter, crossing the remaining landings while not even glancing at the doors. 

Behind him, the team followed, quiet and sounding somewhat muffled. It was the whispers that had Bucky’s attention, soft and sibilant, loud and harsh, but one over all, the one that whispered, “Down. Come down.” They couldn’t hear it, Bucky knew that. They were like him - no, they _would be_ like him. Then the whispers would be clear, they would be words and not sound, meaning and not irritation.

They would all sound like the one that whispered, “Down.”

“Sergeant Barnes!” Steve’s voice broke over the voices, sharp like as whip and cutting through the fog in Bucky’s mind. If he was calling him Sergeant, it hadn’t been the first time he had called to Bucky, but the words had been lost amidst the whispers. “Slow down.”

Pausing between one step and the next, Bucky realised he was rushing, taking the steps two at a time. He had been so focused on the whispers, on the need to follow the one he understood, he had forgotten them, himself even, their purpose. That urgency, the sickening need to _obey_ , was nauseatingly familiar. The same feeling he’d felt when bonded to his handlers, the subconscious need to follow, to obey an Alpha mate. 

Bucky took a deep breath, forcing his body still, punishing himself the tension that flowed through him. He wouldn’t let that need control him any more. He wouldn’t let any outsider will ever take away what and who he was. He would fight it for as long as he could, and if he couldn’t, he would hide, subvert this ‘Alpha’, if that’s what it was. He had done it once already, he could do it again.

“I can hear…” Bucky hesitated, remembering how they’d reacted last time he claimed to hear voices. 

Then Steve’s hand was on his shoulder, his Alpha scent washing over him and the fog was easier to ignore.

“What do you hear?” Steve asked encouragingly.

“He’s commanding us to go down,” Bucky said shakily, turning to look up those few inches to meet Steve’s gaze. 

“Us?” Tony clarified.

Bucky didn’t look away from Steve. 

“Us,” he repeated, “all of us. There’s… It’s the voices I was hearing. I still can’t understand them, but I understand him. He wants us to go down.”

“Who is ‘him’?” Steve asked, a low rumble of a growl in the words. Anger flickered in his eyes and Bucky found himself relieved. This Alpha wouldn’t allow another to take him. Maybe that’s why it was easier to think?

No, that didn’t make sense.

“I don’t know,” Bucky answered honestly. “Just…the one over the others. It feels like…like when I was temporarily bonded to my handlers, the Hydra Alphas. I need… I need to obey. It’s like another will, superimposed over mine.” 

Bucky licked his lips looking up at Steve and feeling a sudden fierce wash of anger. He didn't want this. Didn’t want to feel this again. 

“I want to kill him,” he blurted, completely aware he was contradicting his own words. “I need to go to him,” Bucky tacked on helplessly, confused and terrified he had to fight his own mind like that.

“Alpha voice,” Natasha said knowingly. “Steve, maybe you can…?”

“No,” Steve said sharply, his head half-turning toward Natasha, but his gaze stayed with Bucky. More gently he added, “Only if we start losing you, okay?”

“Losing…?” Bucky didn’t understand. “What’s Alpha voice?”

Stark made a sound of disgust.

“It would make sense they wouldn’t explain it to you,” he said darkly. “It’s… Alpha’s can project command into their voice. Make others obey them by making them want to do what they say. The closer the Alpha is to the subject, the harder it is for them to resist. If you’re bonded, it would be nearly impossible.”

“If it’s like that,” Natasha said, “it should be impossible now.”

“Bucky is strong,” Steve said simply, “You won’t need me to interfere. You can fight him, right?”

Bucky stared at the Alpha with a sense of clear astonishment. He was a ridiculous creature.

“If you try using that ‘Alpha Voice’ on me, I may kill you on reflex,” Bucky warned honestly, finding the thought of maiming Steve just because he tried to help unpalatable.

Though he had just had his life threatened, Steve smiled brilliantly.

“See? He’s fine. Relatively speaking.”

“It’s easier when you’re near,” Bucky muttered, the words feeling pulled from him, but somehow important. Just because he didn’t understand it, didn’t mean it wasn’t true.

Steve shifted closer, their bodies nearly touching. The heat from Steve’s body was a furnace, hotter than Bucky’s, which meant his fever must have broken. Not that he was focused on that thought. He was focused on Steve’s eyes, the way they darted to his lips and back up again, on the sheer physical presence the man had, that fantastic shoulder to hip ratio. 

“Why’s that?” Steve asked, his voice a low rumble that went straight through Bucky’s chest, chasing all other thoughts right out of his mind.

Heart racing, Bucky almost didn’t answer. Almost couldn’t let this Alpha, so interested in him, so close to rut, know the truth. 

“Your scent,” he choked out. “It’s… It’s your scent.”

“That right?” Steve murmured. “Then I think I can help after all.”

Steve didn’t move quickly, making it clear what he was going to do from the moment he took another step closer to Bucky. It would have been easy to stop it, just a single step backward and down the stairs. He didn’t even try, inhaling sharply as Steve’s hand cupped the back of his head, pulling him into a kiss. There was nothing chaste about it. Steve kissed him gently, swiping his tongue across Bucky’s lips so they parted and Bucky allowed him inside, allowed Steve to suck the air right from his lungs. 

It was electrifying, pulling a myriad of reactions from deep within. There was anger, the ever present, fierce anger; denial almost a physical presence. But there was also something else. An acquiescence that came too easily. A hot thrill that ran down Bucky’s spine, making him dizzy with the contradicting urges. 

Then Steve pulled back, breathing as hard as Bucky, and all he could smell was _Steve_. The scent was almost overwhelming, heavy and hot, thick with hormones. Steve’s powerful chest was pressing against Bucky’s own. Bucky waited for him to move, to back away now that the kiss was over, but he didn’t. They were pressed all along their fronts, straps and buckles digging in, but even through the layers of clothing and armor they wore, Bucky could still feel the growing hardness between Steve’s legs, pressed against his hip.

Growling warningly, Bucky’s flesh hand dropped to the thin combat knife at his hip. One slash and he could gut the man, armor or no armor. Steve still didn’t back away. He let out a growl of his own, low and soft, barely audible, barely more than a vibration that travelled through Bucky’s chest. Completely ignoring Bucky’s warning, Steve inhaled deeply and pressed his nose close under Bucky’s jaw, lips against his scent glands.

Bucky could feel the movement of air as Steve _scented_ him.

Hand clenching on the handle of his knife so hard his fingers hurt, Bucky could barely believe this was happening. The last Alpha that had scented him was also the last Alpha to mate him and form a temporary bond. He didn’t let Alphas do that shit to him anymore, he was very fucking clear on that. How many times had he threatened Steve for even suggesting shit like this? He would, and had, killed Alphas for even trying it. Anyone else would have already been bleeding...

Yet Bucky hesitated. He drew the knife out of its sheathe, growling low and wild, heart beating double-time for no fucking reason. Steve was still letting out that soft little rumble, one hand on Bucky’s hip, the other tangling in the hair at his nape. His lips brushed Bucky’s scent glands again.

Bucky shoved Steve away with his metal hand, sheathing his knife at the same time. Twisting sideways, he had the sudden urge not to let Steve see he had pulled it at all. He just stared at the flushed, panting Alpha, and found himself breathing just as hard, stunned by his own reaction. Rather, his lack of reaction.

And then he realized he didn’t feel compelled to follow the voice down. It was there, still there, whispering, but he didn’t have to obey. At least, not right then. Steve shook his head hard, blue eyes focusing on him and waking from his daze. A look of disgust crossed his face and he took a sharp step back. Away from Bucky.

“I… I’m…sorry. I didn’t mean to, I...” Steve swallowed, head coming down and then jerking up, tipping his chin back like he had before. An Alpha, submitting to an Omega. It was…unheard of and Steve had done it twice. “I meant to stop. To not go that far. Just the scent marking, not scenting you in return. I’m so sorry.”

Bucky stared. An Alpha had scented him. Acted as if he had the fucking right to do it, and Bucky _let_ him. He had _let_ him.

He didn’t even say _no_.

“Accident,” Bucky said gruffly, eager to put the moment behind them, and hopefully out of his mind. “No harm done.”

“Not the most traditional scent marking I’ve ever seen,” Romanova said dryly. “That your first kiss since 1945, Steve?”

Steve blushed.

“Maybe,” he muttered.

“Is it working?” Stark asked, for once being the most practical.

“Yes,” Bucky answered quickly, turning to walk down the steps again. Behind him, the others fell back into line, but Steve’s scent didn’t fade. It remained in his nose, his taste on Bucky’s tongue. It wasn’t the first time an Alpha had marked him, it wasn’t even the first time an Alpha had done it when he hadn’t protested, but it _felt_ different. The scent was different, the feeling of warmth that lingered on his skin was different. It seemed, that Steve Rogers was a completely different kind of creature than Bucky was used to.

And he’d chosen to risk losing his own control than to take Bucky’s. No one had been fooled to think Steve’s Alpha voice wouldn’t have worked on him. It might have backfired, but it would have worked. 

They reached the bottom of the stairs moments later, and Bucky held up a hand to stop Steve from opening the lock. Apprehensively, he placed his hand on the door. There was nothing but silence behind. No scratching, no movement, no growl, or whimper. Yet Bucky knew they were there.

The hounds were waiting where he had called them. He could feel them, every single one of them. It was like a buzzing, shivery feeling just under his skin. He knew they were there, but different than before. They felt…static somehow.

“Get ready,” Bucky murmured.

Impulsively, he turned and caught Steve’s wrist with his flesh hand. He rubbed his palm across the additional scent gland Alphas had there. Steve flushed, but let him take his scent, in case he needed that clarity later. Then he stepped aside, let Steve unlock the door, and they swept through.

The hounds were there, hundreds of them, lining the halls and corridors. They grey bodies packed close together, their twisted torsos almost smudging into one pulsating mess. Each hound’s eyes were gleaming red, fixed on them. The jaws were open, black teeth showing, dripping with the poisonous ichor shining in the low emergency lights.

They were quiet, eerily quiet even though they kept shifting and baring their teeth. 

“Hold,” the voice whispered, “Hold.”

And they did, pulling back to let the group pass. Bucky shuddered, sniffing at his palm.

“They won’t attack,” he told the team, “He wants us to come to him.”

“That’s not at all ominous,” Tony quipped.

Steve let out a breath and motioned Bucky forward.

“Let’s assume it’s lucky, shall we? Not sure how we’d fare against this many.”

Understanding the instruction, Bucky stepped forward. The nearest hounds stepped back, their legs moving in sync as they reversed. The path forward was clear, the direction the voice wanted them to take the only way forward. Every other direction was filled with the heavy, muscled hellhound bodies. And they were somehow _communicating_ with each other.

That was the source of the other whispers, Bucky realized. The voices he had been hearing, but couldn’t understand. They slipped beneath the one, the Alpha voice, and he finally caught snatches of words. Nothing that made sense, not full sentences, but they were _talking_. 

“I hear them,” Romanova whispered, her voice truly fearful for the first time in this godforsaken base. “The whispers. Steve…”

“Jesus,” Stark said, fear lacing his tone as well.

As petty as it was, Bucky felt a tiny flush of vindication.

“It’s okay,” Steve said firmly, confidently. Not pulling at their minds, but assuring them nonetheless. Bucky hadn’t known Steve could do this, but now he couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t ever try. “Remember Bruce is working on this back home. We’re not alone. Yes, we’re probably walking into a trap, but this is still what we want. We want to get to Clarkson and he’s taking us to him him. Right, Buck?”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed and took a deep breath, “He’s not gonna know what hit ‘im.”

They continued on, the floor filled with the growls and whispers of hellhounds that stared balefully at them at every turn. The grey, shapeless, living mass surged at them from time to time. Never true attacks, only feints when the monsters thought they were trying to travel in a direction other than the one the voice wanted. The floor had apparently housed the building’s electrical plant, as well as the air conditioning, water systems, and every other pipe that fed into the upper floors. It was cramped, but the corridors were full of even more twists and turns than the upper floors had been. 

The team didn’t speak, not even Stark’s humor would cut the tension of being surrounded by their enemies, the strangeness of the situation too overwhelming, too tense to try easing it with meaningless chatter. Bucky was grateful for the silence. It was starting to become harder to think, to ignore the voice, and ensure it didn’t worm itself into his subconscious again. 

The voice didn’t tell Bucky when they were near, it was the last line of defense. It was the row of humanoid hellhounds standing before a set of double doors. They fell away, one by one, forming two lines of six on either side of the hall. A mockery of an honor guard. They didn’t growl or snarl at them, didn’t fake attacks. They just stared as they approached.

Bucky couldn’t help but feel uneasy at the way the things looked. They were unsettlingly human, but at the same time not human at all. They had the general shape of a man with no neck, standing on two feet, shoulders wider than their hips. Their nearly hairless heads were where one expected, though their ears stuck out at the sides, long, thin pieces cartilage pointed backwards, making the appendages long and ragged. Large, round, decidedly canine eyes sat above a nose elongated into a snout and gleamed red in the semi-darkness. Their lips remained fleshy and expressive, leaving their appearance all the more unsettling as fangs jutted from between the jaws. 

If their features were strange, their limbs were just all wrong. The forearms were longer than any man’s, with the elbow higher up than should have been possible. The fingers of each dark grey hand were tipped with wicked, black claws, though were otherwise undeniably human. Their legs were bent, even as they stood still, and it was clear they would have been taller than even Steve if they straightened to their full height. 

Unlike the whispers of the hellhounds, these monsters _screamed_. The noise was nearly overwhelming as the team passed by and through the doors. Bucky couldn’t understand them, but he could feel the animosity that came off them in waves. Directed at him, at Steve, at Natasha. Not at Tony, though Bucky didn’t know why. He also didn’t much care, so long as Steve’s scent kept him from becoming one of them. It pulled at him, the same as the Alphas who had failed to bond him had pulled at him with their orders. Something easy to brush off, but perhaps only because Bucky couldn’t understand what they were saying.

“I vote we don’t go in there,” Tony said as Bucky passed the first humanoid hellhound.

“Keep up, Tony,” Steve said pleasantly, at least sounding more relaxed than even Bucky felt. Then again, he had monsters whispering in his ear, and an Alpha trying to take over his mind. Again. 

Bucky sniffed at his hand, the scent helping to keep him grounded. The screams of the humanoids and the voice were tearing at his mind, ripping at any chink in his control. For now he could hold it off, hold it at bay, but for how long? Between the voice pounding at his mind and the ache that had started in every joint in his body, he knew he was done for. Sooner or later, the voice was going to get in, even with Steve’s scent to bolster his mind. All he could do now, was hope he could get close enough to Clarkson to take the son of a bitch out with him.

The room Clarkson had chosen to hide out in wasn’t what Bucky expected to find after the rather industrial nature of the floor thus far. It appeared to be some kind of isolation chamber, or rather, several isolation chambers. They ran along the edges of the room, doors standing wide, open, and empty. Made of glass, they were large enough to hold a person comfortably with a single bed and medical equipment. The center of the room held a circular console, likely connected to all the monitoring equipment. 

That was where they found Clarkson. Flanked by two humanoid hounds, he resided exactly in the middle of the room. Bucky stared at him, unable to look anywhere else. The man, if one could even call him that now, looked just like his picture at first glance. A man in his late forties with light brown hair cut short, but greasy. He had wire-rimmed, modern glasses and wore a grey button-up shirt with a black and red striped tie beneath a white lab coat. The clothes were rumpled, as was the man himself. Deep shadows lay beneath his eyes and his skin was sallow, but not the dark grey-green of the hounds. 

Bucky’s eyes caught on the man’s mouth, though without any desire to do so. The thin lips sagged on the left and a trickle of saliva slid from there down his chin. Reaching up as they slowly filed in, forming a half-circle between Clarkson and the door, he wiped it away. It took a strangely long time for him to move, waiting until they were slowing to a stop before he even cared to brush it away.

At the same time as the others, Bucky noticed what the console had been hiding.

Natasha made a small sound of disgust. If Bucky had been capable of feeling much of anything, he would probably have gagged too. All he could do was stare. Behind the dests, Clarkson wasn’t sitting as he looked. He was… Bucky didn’t know what to call it. Sitting, standing, lying down, all seemed impossible when Clarkson’s entire lower half was not much more than a mutated mass of flesh. It spilled across the floor, under and around him, contained only by the consoles themselves. Folds of skin wiggled, pulsed and twitched. 

Pus, or some other fluid, oozed from open sores, and sometimes from just open skin. It wasn’t the dark grey either, red and pink as any human’s. Only, there was nothing human about the massive pile that now served as Clarkson’s lower body. A pool of liquid spread beneath, a strange, viscous shine to it. It had no smell that Bucky could discern, but even from a distance he knew it would be disgusting to touch.

Unable to help himself, Bucky stared, trying to find where Clarkson’s legs ended and his back began. Except, he realised, the change hadn’t taken over just his legs. Huge bulges of flesh strained the back of the lab coat, spilled from beneath it. There were no legs left, nothing that could be called a human appendage. Only oozing, convulsing flesh, quivering with life of its own. 

“Yes,” Clarkson said with a slow, dazed smile, “it is disgusting, isn’t it? Do not worry, this will not be your fate.”

Steve, now standing to Bucky’s left, asked, “What is our fate, then?”

Lifting a hand, Clarkson waved vaguely toward the humanoid hound to his right.

“This, Captain Rogers. My own…state was a bit of an accident, you see. I really should have tested it before trying it on myself, but well, things being as they were...”

Though he scowled, Steve didn’t order an attack.

“We’re enhanced, Dr. Clarkson,” Steve bluffed, “We won’t succumb to your disease.”

“Tut, tut, Captain,” Clarkson scolded, his smile twisting into a rictus of amusement and showing the left side of his face didn’t move at all like it should, “And here I thought we were meeting in good faith.”

Light, watery eyes turned to Bucky. He didn’t speak, not aloud, but Bucky _heard_ him.

“Come to me,” he whispered.

The pull of those words crashed over Bucky’s mind, his heart, and he was swept away in their current. It took away his will, his desires, his sense of self and left him with nothing but Clarkson’s order. The desire to obey. All Bucky could do was shut himself down, push down the parts of himself that made him who he was. Down, ever down, where nobody would find him, where he would be safe.

A hand caught Bucky’s elbow, pulling him back, and Bucky turned to find Steve holding tight to him. 

“Bucky, no,” Steve demanded, but even now he wasn’t forcing Bucky to obey. Merely calling to him, trying to bring him to his senses. There was no disobeying, however. It terrified what little of him was left, how completely he had been taken by Clarkson’s will, how quickly. Just another Alpha using his body for their own gain, offering him to Steve, with no care that it was _his_.

Yanking at Steve’s hold, Bucky tried to get free, but he just held on tighter. Drew Bucky in, whispering, “I will find a way to get you back.” And then just let him go. Didn’t make any attempt to superimpose his will over Clarkson’s, didn’t try to crowd Bucky’s mind even more than it already was. 

“As you can see, Captain,” Clarkson said smugly, as Bucky moved to stand between him and the hellhound to his left, “your enhancement means nothing. It only delays the inevitable.”

“How?” Stark blurted. “How could you possibly create a disease even their immune systems can’t override?”

Clarkson shrugged lazily.

“It was simple, really, since I had access to the Winter Soldier’s blood samples.”

Bucky wanted to be surprised, maybe even shocked, but he wasn’t. In the Raft, his blood had been taken weekly against without his consent. Oh, he had made the guards pay dearly for their bounty, but ultimately it hadn’t been worth fighting so long as they didn’t inject him with anything. It had become routine by the time he had met Steve and his team, though he had gotten used to it during his time with Hydra. Being S.H.I.E.L.D.’s prisoner wasn’t honestly all that different. Well, there was less torture, but compared to the boredom and isolation, he would have preferred some pain.

Steve went still, his hands slowly curling into fists.

“You’re very well known for your research on helpless prisoners,” he spat, “so I don’t even know why I’m surprised.”

Laughing, Clarkson’s torso rippled, moving as though he was leaning backwards in a chair.

“Please, Captain, spare me your morality. It was your precious S.H.I.E.L.D. that couldn’t even wait a whole day before they started pumping him for blood. Besides, prisoners with life sentences are no more than a drain upon society. No to mention they brought their incarceration upon themselves. Contrast with the life-saving research I am doing…” 

Clarkson trailed off as Stark snorted derisively. 

“A plague?” Stark asked sarcastically. “Please.”

“You make a fair argument, Dr. Stark. The research I _was_ doing, until the World Council forced me to work for them here.”

Natasha took a half step forward, feigning interest.

“Your file says they offered you a plea agreement. That doesn’t sound like force to me, sounds like you got off easy.”

Sneering, Clarkson slashed a hand through the air.

“False documents to cover for the truth.” 

Clarkson’s body surged into the air, rising from its pile of spilled flesh so that he towered over them all. Every part left of Bucky wanted to move away, avoid the disgusting bulk as it came nearer. He couldn’t, couldn’t even twitch because Clarkson wanted him there. The team didn’t have that problem, all taking a step back, weapons rising and powering up. Clarkson didn’t attack, though, and didn’t order one either.

“They took my family!” he roared, outraged. “My son and my wife! They took them and they made me swear to study what they wanted, whatever the wanted. I did this and my family would be unharmed. Liars!” he shouted. “Deceivers! Villains! My Melissa and Edward were innocents, and they were _murdered_! Taken from me by the very men who swore they would be safe so long as I obeyed. The people who called themselves the guardians of world peace! Who dared to call themselves righteous and good!”

Bucky twitched at the revelation. It wasn’t shocking, necessarily; specialised skills were always sought after, and governments were known for making disgusting deals to gain a person's cooperation. Yet, what Clarkson was implying was worse than Bucky had expected from S.H.I.E.L.D. or the World Security Council. It took a unique kind of cruelty to take a person’s family from them, especially children, and threaten their lives, let alone kill them.

Assuming, Clarkson was telling the truth, anyway.

“There’s no mention of a son in his file,” Natasha said to Steve, but it was purposely loud enough for Clarkson to hear.

“No, there wouldn’t be,” the mutated man declared, lowering himself a little. His mutated flesh sunk down and oozed more of that viscous fluid. Bucky watched as the pool of liquid inched closer to his boots but didn’t more. “Holding a woman hostage is one thing, but a child? No one would stand for that if they found out, but how does one discover what doesn’t exist?”

Steve flinched, his eyes flicking to Bucky as Clarkson sank back to once again appear seated. 

“Taking all these lives won’t bring them back,” Steve said calmly, focusing on Clarkson again. “It won’t bring you, or them peace, Doctor. Surely you can see that? This is not how you honor their memory.”

“Peace?” Clarkson said dreamily. “Honor? What meaning do these words have when you fight an enemy without either. My enemy, Captain, who you so blithely follow. They sent you, didn’t they? To save the world again as you are wont to do. Tell me, where were you when my Melissa and Edward died? Where you shaking some politician's hand? Saluting a commanding officer? Maybe the same one that ordered the death of my family?”

To Bucky’s surprise, it was Stark who butted in.

“They did send us to save the world, but this doesn’t look like a plague that can’t be stopped with several large bombs. What gives, Clarkson? Looks to me like you made a mistake.”

It was a evidence to how degraded Clarkson’s mind must have become as he immediately latched onto the new topic.

“Ah, that I did. I meant to infest this place, then take my new minions with me to spread the virus across the world. Ensure those responsible felt the bite of my revenge. Alas,” he waved towards his feet, “it has become difficult to move.”

“About that,” Stark said, “what happened?”

Bucky didn’t see why that mattered, but he could see what was happening here. While Romanova and Steve were trying to talk Clarkson down, Stark wanted intel. Likely he thought there could be a cure, to save Steve and Romanova, but even if there were, Bucky knew it was too late for him. Only this time, there would be no last stand.

“The cure did not take,” Clarkson rippled, his body following the shrug of his shoulders, “I designed a virus using serum-enhanced blood. I used the same blood to develop the cure as well, and as you can see, it reacted rather...powerfully to a system not built to withstand it. I am honestly lucky to be alive.”

“You have a cure?” Stark asked eagerly, stepping forward.

“Why, of course,” Clarkson said breezily, “How else would I spread the virus across the globe? Not that it will do you any good, Dr. Stark. Captain Rogers, I have a proposition for you.”

“And what is that?” Steve asked neutrally.

“You and your lady-friend pry Dr. Stark out of his suit, and I will not kill you. I will allow the transformation to take you and you will serve as powerful generals at my side. I will even allow you some measure of freedom, unlike my current servants, and what you truly desire, Captain.”

Steve raised an eyebrow.

“I doubt that.”

Clarkson laughed, a wet, sarcastic sound.

“Bucky, isn’t it? Give him a taste of what I have to offer.”

Bucky moved even before Clarkson finished speaking, his desires known instantly and the words for show. Dropping his rifle so it swung down at his side, he marched up to Steve, taking in his widening eyes, the clear uncertainty of Bucky’s next actions. Yet the stupid, trusting idiot held still. Allowed Bucky to curl both his hands around the shield’s shoulder straps, and yanked him forward. 

It was both familiar and alien, having a foreign will imposed over his own, forcing himself to do things he never would have without it. He was disgusted with himself for being unable to resist, and terrified there was no way out this time. The point in coming down here had been to take Clarkson with him, but now he was his tool. There was nothing he could do about that, though, so he pushed down his disgust, his fear and just _did_. It was all he could do. He tried not to think about it.

Steve gasped as Bucky slotted his mouth over his, kissing him fiercely. It wasn’t the gentle brush of lips from before, the careful permission for entrance. Bucky bit at Steve’s lips to make him gasp, then swept his tongue inside, licking and tasting. Clarkson was right about one thing, Steve desired him, and Bucky gave the kiss everything he had, fucking Steve’s mouth with his own. Simulating what the Alpha really wanted. 

The heat of Steve’s hands hovered over his hip, against his collarbone, and Bucky jerked Steve even closer, pressing their chests together so their bodies fit from thigh to chest. Steve was trying not to react, not to touch, but Bucky could feel the tension in his body in the way his hands flew to the side, away from their bodies to avoid accidentally, or purposefully, touching him. 

Yet, despite kissing with everything Hydra’s Alphas had taught him, Steve didn’t react. Didn’t kiss back, didn’t touch him. It wasn’t _good enough_ , but not to Clarkson, to Bucky. _He_ wanted Steve to react, to show this wasn’t just a kiss they were forced into. To show it meant something because it was Steve, and if he had to be forced to touch anyone, Bucky was glad it was him. 

Growling his displeasure, Bucky bit at Steve again. He yanked their hips together and finally, _finally_ , Steve reacted. Surged forward under Bucky’s hands to touch him, to do _something_. What it was, Bucky never found out. Clarkson’s recall was a harsh jerk of a leash tied tightly around his throat, and he flinched back, unable to resist the order. 

“Bucky,” Steve pleaded, breathless, but he didn’t try to hold Bucky in place. 

Bucky took one step back, then two, and turned before he could meet Steve’s eyes. Whatever was there, he didn’t want to know. Wouldn’t be able to keep himself safe from Clarkson’s reaching presence. Not when the mere pleading in Steve’s voice had shaken him.

The satisfaction emanated from Clarkson in waves.

“You see, Captain? I can give him to you. He won’t have you otherwise. I can see it in his head, the things he fears, and you are all of them. If you want him, this is the only way.”

Bucky stilled his mind and his heart, not letting himself feel anything. Not pain, not pleasure, not fear. If there was a tiny ember of feeling burning brightly in the corner of his soul, he buried it, pushed it deep into the dark place that was his mind to make sure it remained untouched. He was here to obey Clarkson’s orders and nothing more. There was no James Buchanan Barnes here, no Winter Soldier. He was just flesh and bones, and his only will was Clarkson’s.

Making himself look at Steve’s stricken expression, Bucky made himself feel nothing. Nothing at all.


	15. Chapter 15

Steve had never witnessed the kind of abuse Bucky was suffering now. It wasn’t unheard of, Alphas influencing their bondmates, making them do things they wouldn’t have otherwise. It was much less common these days, and was, thankfully, illegal now, but that didn’t help an Omega who wanted nothing more than to please their Alpha. There were myths of Omegas agreeing to the Alpha’s every whim, but Steve had never actually met an Alpha who would want that. And this? This looked far worse than anything he’d heard about. There was nothing in Bucky’s eyes anymore, no sign that he was fighting, or that he even could fight.

And Clarkson knew it.

The taste of Bucky still lingered on his tongue, but it was tainted. Bucky wouldn’t have kissed him again by choice; Steve was sure of that, but god, had the man kissed him. Like he had wanted him, was hungry for him, but he _hadn’t been_. Clarkson had confirmed that. 

Bucky didn’t want him.

That simple fact made Steve’s decision effortless. It wasn’t even a question, really. Only if he refused, Clarkson would have no reason to continue dealing with them. He could send in his hordes of monsters, and that would be that. They’d be torn to pieces, Bucky would still be Clarkson’s, and then the nukes would fall. The world would be safe, sure, but that wasn’t good enough.

Any move to attack would result in that same scenario. The link between the hounds and their master was clearly non-verbal, Bucky having moved in for that kiss before Clarkson had finished his command. It would be one thing dealing with just the hounds, or just the humanoid army, an entire contingent of which waited just outside. Clarkson had more than that, though. He had Bucky, and the man was more of a threat than anything else. Whatever plan Steve came up with had to deal with Clarkson, while not hurting Bucky, _and_ keeping the hounds out of the battle. 

Steve watched as Bucky moved to stand in front of Clarkson, placing himself between his new master and Tony. There had been no command to do so, but there was no doubt in Steve’s mind it had been an order. Bucky, the real Bucky, wanted Clarkson dead, not protected. 

Tony’s repulsors whirred to life at the movement, and Steve snapped his head in the man’s direction, a plan forming rapidly in his mind. If he couldn’t attack Clarkson directly without engaging Bucky and the hounds, he had to make sure Clarkson thought any fighting was between his own team. Then strike so fast, so hard, and so devastatingly, there was no doubt Clarkson wouldn’t survive.

Steve couldn’t do that; Tony could.

The only problem was Bucky himself. He noticed too much for Steve to risk leaving him under Clarkson’s control. Steve needed to be sure Bucky wouldn’t give their plan away. Wouldn’t even be aware there was a plan. As much as it turned Steve’s stomach, there was only one way to take Bucky out of the equation. 

“Bucky,” Steve called, but the Omega didn’t so much as twitch. Clarkson laughed and Steve licked his lips, shifting uncomfortably. Alpha voice, the ability to influence Omegas and Betas and issue challenges to other Alphas wasn’t one he used often. He disliked it, if he was being honest, but it would serve its purpose here. Pull Bucky between Clarkson and himself and, if they were lucky, give him enough of his own mind back so as not to give away his plan. If they weren’t so lucky, it might still be enough that Steve would challenge Clarkson’s hold on Bucky to completely draw Bucky’s attention away from what was going on. 

Closing his eyes, Steve let his control slip. Let the primal parts of his mind take over, the parts enraged that someone would dare take his Omega, that Clarkson would _dare_ to threaten his pack. Steve couldn’t smell them himself, but he knew his pheromones would be filling the room, screaming challenge and aggression. Demanding anyone weaker submit.

He was Alpha and he would be obeyed; he would not be challenged.

“Bucky,” Steve growled, “Come here.”

The words were simple, but they hit Bucky like a freight train. Steve watched, dismayed and nauseatingly vindicated as his Omega flinched sharply, almost stumbling backward. Bucky shook his head, eyes unfocused, the fingers of his flesh hand uncurling from the grip they had on his rifle. He looked dazed, as if somebody had hit him over the head with a two-by-four.

Clarkson frowned, turning his head to look at the Omega, and Steve had to reign his instincts back in to keep from rushing the son-of-a-bitch. Clarkson didn’t say anything, but his focus was completely on Bucky. It made Steve feel guilty, like he was being a terrible person, but he was glad for that moment. That one brief moment where both Bucky and Clarkson were distracted so that he could shoot a look at Nat, shifting his shield a little to catch her eyes and then moving his thumb, pointing it at the centre of his chest, hoping she would catch on to his plan.

“Bucky,” Steve repeated, making the order even stronger, harsher. 

The Omega made a small choking noise, and actually took a step towards Steve, his grace vanishing as he stumbled on shaky legs.

“Stay,” Clarkson snapped. The Omega let out a strangled sound.

A gush of blood spilled from Bucky’s nose as he flinched back into his previous position, legs shaking. Slowly, he sank to the floor, resting on one knee, his flesh hand pressed to his head. Keening quietly, he was obviously in distress. Distress Steve had caused. Steve hated himself for doing it, for making Bucky his distraction and his tool, but it was the only option. If they survived this, though, he was going to have nightmares featuring that low, pained whine for years to come.

“You can’t win Captain,” Clarkson said, sounding almost amused at Steve’s failure. “You can’t _challenge_ me, not when his genetics make him vulnerable to me. Look at yourself. You have barely managed to call to one of the Omegas in the room, while I control hundreds of them. You are out of your league here, Captain. It’s time to admit that and join me.”

Tearing his eyes from Bucky, Steve swallowed the sarcastic comment on the tip of his tongue.

“What guarantee do we have you won’t just take our minds, too?” he asked. For the plan to work, both Tony and Clarkson had to believe Steve and Natasha were switching sides. Tony would be easy, Clarkson… Well, Steve didn’t know him well enough.

“Steve!” Tony protested, but Natasha had understood.

“You could just be lying,” she agreed, “Why should we trust you?”

Clarkson swiveled to face Natasha.

“What kind of guarantee would you like, Miss…?

“Romanov,” Natasha answered. “We crack Tony’s suit, then we get to leave here. Far enough away you can’t influence us, but we still finish our transition. Take Tony and Barnes with us, follow your orders from afar.”

It was a good solution, but Steve didn’t let himself get distracted by finding loopholes in the deal. They weren’t taking it. Not that Tony realized that. 

“Hey, guys, this is seriously uncool,” Tony protested, backing away from both Steve and Natasha, palms up, repulsors still charged. “I know you’re sick, but there’s a cure! All we have to do is defeat Clarkson, then we can get the hell out of here.”

“We both win,” Steve said to Clarkson, ignoring Tony, “You get the three of us, willingly, I keep my pack, we keep our minds.”

“I accept your deal,” Clarkson said, sweeping his arm through the air, as if the decision was magnanimous. “Now, prove to me _you_ will follow through.”

“Steve,” Tony sounded desperate now, “This isn’t funny any more.”

Natasha broke from Steve’s right, circling around Clarkson. The two humanoid hellhounds followed, keeping themselves between her and their leader. Tony tracked her with one hand, the other pointing at Steve as he lifted his shield and prepared to attack.

It went against every instinct Steve had to attack an Omega he considered his. Not his, the way he considered Bucky, but a member of his pack. An Omega he was supposed to protect with his life. With his rut so close, it was even harder to fight those instincts, to knowingly put Tony in danger, not just from the disease, but from his own hands. Yet, he had to, just as he had had to hurt Bucky, because they were _his_ and he wasn’t going to let Clarkson have either of them.

“Why do you not command him to stand down?” Clarkson asked curiously.

“The suit blocks the pheromones, jackass,” Tony answered for Steve, backing towards the door. 

A moment later, the double doors swung open, but the humanoid hellhounds blocked Tony’s retreat. Behind their legs, Steve could already see the shorter, more animalistic bodies of the hounds, pushing their heads in, teeth bared, focusing on Tony for the first time since they had entered the godforsaken base.

“Fuck,” Tony cursed, reversing course, “Steve, please. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if you make me.”

“I’m sorry, Tony,” Steve said sincerely, “but this is the best choice. It’s the only way we stay together.”

Tony was still backing up, still thinking he could reason with Steve instead of fight.

“Are you insane?” he demanded. “Steve, there’s no sense in this. This isn’t like you. We have to fight this. We _can_ fight this.”

“I tried,” Steve said, motioning toward Bucky, “But I can’t break his hold and I won’t lose Bucky. Stand down, Tony. I don’t want to lose you, too.”

Natasha darted forward and Tony adjusted, jerking to follow her as the repulsors’ whine filled the room. Still he didn’t attack, didn’t fire. It made Steve’s chest ache to see how much faith Tony had in him, that they didn’t have to fight. Except, they did, and Steve didn’t know how long his command would keep Bucky out of it for.

Darting to the left, Steve startled Tony into taking a step in the opposite direction. His back crashed against the glass of an isolation chamber and Steve lifted his shield higher. Yet Tony _still_ didn’t attack, still didn’t fight them off. Steve hoped he was thinking of Pepper, of getting back to her. He knew Tony cared for him, but it was Pepper who was his mate, his Alpha. Steve was banking on that, given a choice, Tony would choose to return to her.

“Steve,” Tony pleaded, “Don’t do this. We’re a family and this is not how you treat family. You’re the only real family I’ve had, but I… I can’t let you do this. I have to go home.”

And there it was, Tony had realized the choice he was making.

“You promised Pepper you’d make sure I came home.” Steve couldn’t hide his flinch and Tony dug in, “You didn’t think I heard, but I did. She’s your family, too, Steve. Please don’t take that from me. From her. Please,” Tony’s voice was so soft, so unlike him, it tore at Steve’s heart. He was supposed to _protect_ this, not tear it down! “Don’t take my family.”

“Steve,” Natasha said, both encouraging and warning. 

Steve nodded, taking a breath and then another step forward. What he had to do was obvious. Tony wouldn’t ever attack first, not if they kept it this way. Not them. Under that harsh, obtuse veneer, there was a surprisingly gentle, generous man, willing to blame himself for things that were never his fault. Tony would allow Steve to do this, just to spare the few people he cared about. Steve would have to push him over the edge, force him to let loose a blast powerful enough to take out Clarkson in one go. Threaten the one other person Tony cared for more.

“It’s okay, Tony,” Steve said, gentle, coaxing, “We’ll find her first. You won’t lose Pepper, she’ll be with us, too.”

There was no warning to indicate Steve had pushed Tony’s red button. Both palm repulsors fired. Natasha dove to the side and Steve dodged to the left. Then he moved, fast and decisive, letting the shield fly. The edge slammed into the hand Tony had pointed his way, shattering the repulsor in it, and sending sparks arcing into the air. Steve prayed he hadn’t broken any seals in the suit as the shield ricocheted off a wall and back towards him

Setting his face into a hard scowl, Steve jumped up to catch the shield, and didn’t wait for Tony to attack again. He angled it for another throw and Tony did what he had to. His chest repulsor glowed with golden light and released a powerful blast.

Still in mid-air, Steve tightened his grip on the shield instead of throwing it. He twisted his body, angling the shield to deflect the powerful beam of energy. He could feel the strain on his spine and his hips as he worked against his own momentum. The fierce golden brightness of the repulsor beams was blinding. The scorching heat of the blast had him resisting the urge to duck under the shield, to protect himself from the burns he would surely have later. It threw him higher into the air, but he had expected that. Expected it and twisted, holding hard to the shield and reflected the powerful energy beam right at Clarkson’s head. 

It happened in an instant. The blast from Tony, Steve deflecting it, and Natasha’s guns firing as fast as she could pull the triggers. Strips of Steve’s skin along his left arm burned off, his suit melting in patches where the edge of the blast had caught him. He didn't let go of the shield even as he fell back towards the ground, even as he burned. He held his angle, his body in the exact position to deflect Tony’s power at Clarkson.

Tony cut off the blast as suddenly as he started it. 

Past the highest point of his arc, Steve fell uncontrollably, his body too stiff with pain to twist for a proper landing. The fingers of his left hand were burned and swollen, curling convulsively around the edge of the shield. He hit the ground hard on his back, the air rushing from his lungs. 

From the ground, he saw Clarkson’s body, or at least what was left of it. The blast had vaporized his head, neck, and shoulders. As Steve watched, what was left tilted on the mutated stalk, and fell in a heap on the ground. With them, fell the humanoid hellhounds, Natasha’s bullets having unerringly found their bulging eye sockets. All but one. It, Bucky, and the other doglike-hounds stood frozen, eyes glassy, but open wide. 

For a moment, Steve was terrified that he had miscalculated, that Clarkson had been too deep within Bucky’s mind to pull him back. Nothing moved. Steve held his breath. Tony and Natasha remained where they stood, Tony’s repulsors still whining, Natasha with her weapons raised and the slides locked open on empty.

Then Bucky exploded into movement. One moment he was standing still, the next he let out a hoarse snarl and was on top of the remaining humanoid hound, whaling on him with his metal and flesh fists, bearing him to the ground, never breaking his assault. 

Steve surged up to help, but a sharp, “Steve, no!” from Natasha stopped him short. 

He looked at her, surprised by the sharpness of her tone, but he already knew what she was warning him against. The hounds that had pushed through the double doors were staring at him. Just at him. Red eyes glowed, teeth bared, fangs dripped poison, and they growled, low and menacing as they crouched leap. They were moments from attacking him.

The only difference between him and the others was he had dared to interfere with Bucky’s fight.

Steve froze, leaving Bucky to deal with the humanoid hound on his own, no matter how hard it was to ignore his instincts. The creature was growling, snarling that hollow sound they made, tearing at Bucky with its claws. Sharp weapons screeched angrily as they slid down the metal arm, blood splashed onto the concrete, black and red, as Bucky gave as good as he got. It didn't last longer than a perhaps a minute, before the humanoid creature slumped, still, and the only moving body was Bucky’s. Straddling the creatures hips, his head hung low, his dark, sweat-wet hair falling into his face. Both his arms were covered in blood, his and not his, up to his elbows.

The hounds around them abruptly howled all at once, a chorus of screaming, rasping voices. Shivers raced down Steve’s back. The beasts acted as one, unified once again despite Clarkson’s death. And there knelt Bucky, in Clarkson’s remains, accepted and protected as one of the pack. Steve wanted to go to him, discover if he was free, find out why he’d attacked the hound, but he held himself in place, easing only to his knees.

There was no way to know whose side he was on.

Carefully, Tony came up on Steve’s right, Natasha on his left. They also stared at Bucky, his eyes glowing as red as the hounds’, as they hauled Steve to his feet. The sight was completely unnerving, and Steve’s anxiety wasn’t abated even though the action had come to a halt.

“We’re on the same side, right?” Tony asked, though his helmet never turned from where he stood, still observing Bucky.

Laying his hand on Tony’s shoulder, also not looking away from the image of Bucky panting atop the corpse, Steve nodded. 

“Same side. Seal status?”

“Solid. So that _was_ a trick then?”

“Yes, Tony. We’re family, right?”

“You’re a fucking asshole,” Tony said darkly, but he shifted under Steve’s touch, leaning further into it.

“Bucky?” Steve called, not pulling, not forcing, now that Clarkson was dead.

The hounds at the door growled, as if angry that Steve would dare talk to Bucky at all. In response, Bucky let out a strangely hollow, rasping sound, identical to those the hounds had made. Immediately the creatures fell back, lowering their heads, their whole bodies. Bucky looked up then, his sweaty hair loose, the hairband having burst sometime during the scuffle. His eyes were very dark, almost black.

“You’re controlling them,” Steve said, feeling as if the air had rushed from his lungs again. “How…?”

“When Clarkson died,” Bucky rasped, his vocal cords sounding damaged, the words more like a growl, than human speech, “it left a vacuum. One of us had to step in. But when Romanov killed the others, there was only the two of us.” Bucky lifted his hands, red and black blood slicking them still. “I won.”

“Well, that’s, uh, good,” Tony said. “That is good, right?”

“The hounds would have eaten you by now otherwise,” Bucky answered.

“Sounds good to me,” Natasha said neutrally, reloading her guns with fresh clips. “Now can we get out of here?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, shaken, “Bucky -”

Steve froze, reaching out and grabbing both Natasha and Tony, pushing them back as he felt the hounds crawl past his feet. They went easily, falling back to the wall as the mass of unnatural creatures surged forward, surrounding Bucky as he climbed to his feet. They didn’t attack, they slouched, chests low to the ground, snouts raised to lick at his bloodied fists, his legs, his face. They were fawning over him, leaving streaks of black ichor on his jaw, his cheeks, whatever they could reach.

Horrified, Steve could only stare at Bucky, who appeared calm and still, actually relaxed in the midst of them. More than he had under Clarkson’s control, he looked lost to Steve. To humanity. And Steve had let it happen, had let Bucky lead them down here, where he’d fallen ever further under Clarkson’s spell. And now…this.

“Steve,” Natasha said worriedly.

Swallowing hard, Steve nodded.

“Bucky, it’s time to go.”

Bucky shook his head, motioning with a hand and the hounds fell back. Didn’t stray far, but they stopped licking him. 

“I’m the only thing standing between you all being ripped apart by them.”

“So keep standing between us and come with,” Tony demanded. “Come on, I’ve really gotta pee.”

“We’re not going without you,” Steve said flatly.

One of the hounds made a small whining sound and rose up on its hind legs, front paws rested on Bucky’s side as it strained to sniff at Bucky’s face.

“Doesn't quite work that way,” Bucky said letting the beast sniff at him. The creature huffed, a sound that would probably have been cute from a dog, but not a monster the size of a small horse. It fell back to the floor with a thump, once more on all fours. It wasn’t looking at Steve, or the others, but somehow Steve was certain its attention was on him.

“So how does it work?” he asked, searching for some way to get Bucky back. To get him out of here, and give him his freedom, like he had promised. He couldn’t fail again. Not again.

Bucky scratched at his side with his flesh hand, casual as if he wasn’t suggesting he had to stay behind. When he lifted his hand again, he examined the flex. Even to Steve at this distance, the fingertips were suspiciously dark and discolored.

“Go,” Bucky said making a small gesture towards the door. “There’s a tunnel, Stark can blow a hole in the wall to access it. It will lead you all the way out. I’ll have one of the dogs show you the way.” He dropped his arm to his side, hand resting on a hound’s skull. “I’m already more theirs than I ever was yours.”

Swallowing, Steve couldn’t help but think that meant some part of Bucky had been his.

“A tunnel?” Natasha repeated.

Nodding, Bucky looked idly around the room, his hand scratching behind the ear of the hound at his side. As if it were a beloved pet, not a monster that had done its best to kill him just an hour before.

“An escape tunnel, built in the ‘80’s. There’s no reason it shouldn’t be there still.”

Steve swallowed, at once angry and overwhelmed. A tunnel meant a way for Bucky to have escaped when he’d thought they’d left him behind. A way out he hadn’t taken, assuming there had been time to reach it before the hounds cornered him. Knowing the Sergeant, he would have gotten there if that had been his goal.

“Come with us,” Steve demanded, more certain than ever that he couldn’t leave Bucky behind. 

“No!” Bucky snarled, his body tensing. The hounds reacted as well, raising their heads and baring their teeth. As in tune with Bucky as they had been with Clarkson.

Bucky made that strange, growling sound again, baring his own teeth and Steve jerked back as he realised Bucky’s teeth were black. The whole inside of his mouth was black. Again, the hounds obeyed, falling back as Bucky spit out a wad of black saliva.

“We’re not leaving?” Tony asked quietly.

“No,” Steve said quietly, even as desperation filled his chest, “We’re leaving.”

“Steve,” Natasha started to protest, waving a hand toward Bucky.

It warmed Steve completely how his pack, his _family_ , had accepted Bucky, would die for him as they would for each other. Not just because Steve had become so enamored, though he knew that was part of it. It was because they were genuinely good people, even if they didn’t like to admit as much.

“It’s his choice,” Steve interrupted, “but…”

He took a breath, letting the desperation wash over him. He was losing his Omega. Worse, if Bucky stayed, he would die. They couldn’t leave the Three Sisters standing. They’d dealt with Clarkson, now they would conveniently forget to check in until the nuke fell. Bucky couldn’t be here when that happened. He just couldn’t.

“Bucky,” he said, his pheromones filling the room a second time, demanding submission to his will. It was a struggle, keeping his voice even as desperate as he was. Likely, he failed, so he made his command something a desperate man would ask for. 

“Walk with us to the tunnel. Show us yourself. Give me a little more time.”

Bucky shifted, his posture easing, coming down from the defensive stance he had adopted. There was a sense of _give_ to him now, compliance that hadn’t been there before. Steve wasn’t above using that chink in Bucky’s armor against him, not when it might save his life.

“Please,” he added softly, keeping his own barriers low so the primal parts of him flooded the place with scent. Influencing Bucky when he was already compromised, already wanted to please Steve. It made Steve want to take a long, hot shower.

Licking his lips, Bucky’s fingers moved restlessly over the hellhound’s back. He looked from Steve, to the door, then to the hounds at his feet. Finally, he looked back to Steve, his dark eyes unreadable. It filled Steve with even more desperation, that this bid for Bucky’s life might not work. That he would fail to protect what was _his_ to safeguard, his to cherish and care for. He couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t.

“Let me say goodbye,” Steve pleaded. Then he struck low, aiming for something he knew would carry as much guilt for Bucky as it did for him. “I didn’t get to say goodbye to the people I cared about before.” 

It was true, it was all true, but Steve had to be careful. He couldn’t press too hard, be too harsh, or the Omega would lump him in with all the other Alphas that had used their influence on him. Then he would start fighting, perhaps even at the cost of his life. So Steve had to be gentle, had to _ask_ , without asking. 

Finally, hesitantly, Bucky nodded.

“Just a sec,” Tony interrupted, darting into one of the isolation chambers. He yanked open drawers, searching for something.

“Tony?” Steve asked with no little confusion. 

“We need a sample from Clarkson,” he explained hurriedly, knowing then what Steve had done and that Bucky could realize at any time. “Just let me… Here.”

Coming out again, he froze and waved vaguely at the dogs.

“Listen, Pied Piper, could you move your buddies? They seriously freak me out and I need to get to where you’re standing.”

Bucky let loose with another sound no human throat should have been able to produce. The hounds slunk away, glaring balefully at Tony as if they knew he was to blame for separating them from Bucky. Thankfully, Tony didn’t waste any time. Hurrying forward, crushing Clarkson’s mass beneath his feet, he jammed a large needle into the dead doctor’s chest. The syringe, when he pulled back the plunger, filled with black, viscous fluid.

“Now we can go,” Tony announced, handing the sample to Natasha for safekeeping.

Steve let out the breath he was holding; Bucky didn’t seem to have noticed his influence yet. He was calm, relaxed, and Steve expected he would be been agitated if he wasn’t unaware. Part of Steve wondered how much of his success was due to Bucky being already compromised and how much had to do with the influence he actually had over the Omega. When it came down to it, Steve would prefer it to be a question of Bucky being weaker than usual. The prospect of having that kind of power over anybody had always been nauseating. It was why he never used it unless another Alpha forced a challenge, and only then to make the usually-angry idiot to back down.

“Lead the way, Buck,” Steve said, motioning towards the double doors.

Stepping from the hounds, Bucky walked to the door. When Steve, Natasha and Tony followed, he pushed them open and strode down the hall. Thankfully, the hounds didn’t follow, though Steve hadn’t been sure that would be the case. Frankly, he didn’t know how he would have handled things if they had. The beasts weren’t going to like what Steve planned to do to their leader.

Though Steve had asked to say goodbye, Bucky strode ahead of them, navigating the halls without any trouble. When Steve was certain there were no hounds in the hall, he reached to Natasha, but didn’t slow his steps or turn toward her. Catching her wrist, he trailed his fingers along the strips covering the wires of her Widow bite. 

As quickly as he touched her, he let go. Moments later, Bucky stopped and tapped the wall before him. The corridor had dead-ended on the far south of the building. It was, admittedly, odd because there weren’t many corridors that ended in walls. Most had ended in rooms.

“Here,” Bucky rasped, “Stark, blast through, and the tunnel will lead all the way to the surface. It’ll be the fastest way out.”

Stepping forwards quickly, Steve caught Bucky’s wrist as he went past, putting his own back to the wall in question.

“Are you sure about this? Your freedom is waiting, just through that wall.”

Bucky looked bad, to be honest. His skin was quickly gaining an unsettlingly grey sheen to it that that looked far too much like the hounds’ for Steve’s liking. Dark circles had formed under his eyes, his hair was lank with water, blood, or sweat. Perhaps all three. He smelled bad, looked terrible, yet he was still the most attractive man Steve had ever seen. 

“Not mine,” Bucky stated firmly. 

It was disturbing, the calm Bucky displayed while simultaneously being determined to stay, to die in this place. He knew perfectly well it was going to be blown to bits in a few hours. Steve hadn’t known him long, but this was nothing like the fiery, fierce Omega he had met and served with. The man so determined to survive, to fight. What was in this disease, in what Clarkson had done to Bucky, that had sapped the will right out of him?

“Leave me,” Bucky said making a gesture as if to start backing away.

The uncharacteristic actions assuaged some of Steve’s guilt at taking Bucky’s choice away from him.

Swallowing, Steve lifted his hand and hesitated before cupping Bucky’s jaw just beneath his ear. This close, he could see the grey of his eyes was gone, the pupil having taken over the entire iris. His breath stank, sour and sweet, as did the streaks of black saliva the hounds had left on his skin. It was impossible not to wonder how much of him was left, but he wasn’t tense beneath Steve’s hand, not even when he placed the other on Bucky’s hip.

Leaning in, just a little, he let their noses touch and heard Bucky inhale sharply.

“I’m so sorry,” Steve murmured, their lips brushing as he spoke.

“I-it’s not your fault,” Bucky replied, his eyes wide, but not the eyes Steve wanted to see, “It’s my choice.”

Steve smiled sadly.

“That’s not why I’m sorry.”

“Why…?”

Bucky never got a chance to finish his question. There was a crackle of electricity, and Natasha punched Bucky in the back with both her fists. Steve had a second to stop touching him before he convulsed with the power of the Widow bite. Then he was falling forward, eyes slipping shut, and Steve bent so Bucky fell across his shoulders.

A howl erupted behind them and Steve lifted Bucky, turning and nodding to the wall.

“Blow it.”

“With pleasure.”

Glancing back down the corridor, Natasha powered down her gloves as the thundering of clawed feet reached them from further within the building.

“That went better than I expected,” she confessed.

Steve shrugged, shifting Bucky’s weight more comfortably.

“Kind of been winging it for a while.”

“You don’t say,” she said sarcastically, a slight lift to her lips as Tony blasted through the wall. Debris flew past them, but Natasha didn’t so much as flinch. “Never would have guessed that, Cap.”

“Come on,” Tony demanded, “Get in and I’ll bring down the ceiling on this side. Keep Buckaroo’s new friends at bay.”

Jogging past Tony, Steve found a smooth, concrete tunnel lit by fluorescent lights. It climbed steadily upward, then turned a sharp corner to the east. He started up it as another blast echoed behind him, followed by the frustrated howls and growls of the hellhounds left behind.

It took nearly a quarter of an hour to leave the concrete escape tunnel behind. It would have taken longer, but Steve set their pace at a quick jog. There was no sense in being slow, in taking their time when the hellhounds could potentially catch up to them outside. They weren’t in the clear yet.

Steve didn’t relax, or slow their pace until he had carried Bucky up the ramp of the quinjet and Tony and Natasha followed. If the hounds were following to the surface, they saw no signs of them. Tony and Natasha dropped into the pilot's and copilot's seats respectively, powered the jet up, and lifted away from the Three Sister’s complex with nine hours to spare before the bombs fell.

Which was a problem, all things considered.

“Don’t contact anyone,” Steve ordered. “Keep under the radar. Tony, talk to me about a cure.”

Swinging Bucky off his back, Steve laid him on the medical bed as Tony answered. 

“Well, when JARVIS told Bruce about the people at the complex becoming the hellhounds, he had some break-throughs discovering information on the plague. I’m gonna patch into him now, see if we can’t get something figured out between Clarkson’s notes and whatever part of the cure was still hanging out in his blood.”

Steve nodded, hesitated, and then went to the lockers to retrieve the magnetic field restraints they used on particularly dangerous prisoners. It wasn’t what he wanted to do, far from what he wanted, but they couldn’t risk Bucky waking and fighting to return to Three Sisters. Steve hoped now that they were out and flying away from the place, that he wouldn’t _want_ to return, but he couldn’t take that chance. He wouldn’t accept that as Bucky’s choice, not until he was cured, not until he was sure Bucky’s mind was his own. Not that Bucky would care for Steve’s reasoning.

“You sure you don’t want to contact anyone?” Natasha asked from the front. “That’s a pretty big bomb, Steve.”

Letting out a breath, Steve leaned his head against the locker for a moment.

“I don’t know if it’s an actual nuke,” he replied, “but even if it is, yes. Three Sisters is far enough from any large cities the fallout should be restricted and…” Sighing again, he looked to Natasha helplessly. “They all have to be destroyed. We can’t risk S.H.I.E.L.D. or the World Security Council getting their hands on this again and…after the bomb, they won’t be able to hide that something happened.”

Natasha held his gaze for a long, probing moment before nodding.

“So long as you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” Steve said, though he still hated this decision. But what options had he been left with? God only knew what other horrors were being cooked up in Three Sisters. 

Turning to the bed, Steve locked both Bucky’s wrists to the frame that was reinforced to withstand someone with his own strength. It was surprising to find that with all he had on his mind - Tony, the bomb, the World Security Council using S.H.I.E.L.D. to imprison whoever they liked without trial, killing so many people - Bucky was at the forefront of it all. As he made Bucky a prisoner again, Steve hoped the Omega would understand. It was only temporary, but would that even matter?

Everything about their situation sickened Steve, not least because he was now no better than the other Hydra Alphas who had abused Bucky. He was just another Alpha taking away Bucky’s choices and forcing him to do what he wanted. Even if Bucky was grateful to have his life, Steve didn’t expect he would appreciate his behavior, controlling and keeping him captive. There was too much anger in Bucky already to just accept that Steve had done what he thought was best. Hell, he hadn’t accepted it before when Steve had left him behind to save Natasha. 

Why would he accept it now?

Dropping into the chair next to Bucky’s bed, Steve rested his head into his hands as Tony and Bruce’s voices drifted to him from the cockpit. If there had been a part of Bucky that was as drawn to Steve as he had been to Bucky, it wouldn’t withstand this. The best Steve could hope for was anger, the worst would be Bucky wanting Steve’s life. In another time, he might have even given him that, but now Tony needed him, and Natasha, too, if her display in the cafeteria had meant anything.

Taking a shaky breath, Steve pulled both his hands through his hair and sat up. His guilt wasn’t helping anyone, not Bucky, not himself, nor the hundreds, maybe thousands of former-humans-turned-hounds he was leaving behind to die in the blast. Perhaps Bucky would be angry with him, perhaps even rightfully so, but Steve would stand by his own choices. It had been the right thing to do, even if it made him no better than Hydra in Bucky’s eyes. All of it had been the right thing to do.

Grabbing the first aid kit from the wall, Steve let himself hope Bucky, Tony, everyone wouldn’t hate him for what he’d done.

When Steve turned around, he nearly dropped the kit in surprise. Bucky’s eyes were open, slowly circling the jet, as if having trouble understanding where he was. That he had woken so soon after Natasha’s attack was more than a little surprising, but then again, he had never experienced a bite himself. 

“Bucky?” Steve asked hesitantly.

The black eyes turned to him, but there was no emotion in them. No anger, no hatred, no regret, nothing. Then they closed, as if Bucky had never woken at all.


	16. Chapter 16

“It looks like he was using a dendritic cell vaccine with a recombinant vector to deliver the cure. So it’s not so much a cure, as a vaccination, which means if your Sergeant Barnes is already too sick, it might not stimulate his immune system in time to fight off the disease. And I mean, that’s not even talking about reversing the effects. This disease literally changes a person’s DNA, Tony. It’s light years beyond anything I’ve ever seen, or heard of. This should be science fiction.”

For once, Tony hadn’t tried to interrupt Bruce. The soothing babble of science kept his mind focused, kept it from wandering, his thoughts from returning over and over to Steve turning on him, slowly stalking him, threatening Pepper…

“Tony?”

“Yeah,” Tony said quickly, “Well, why don’t we try to combine it with a nanorobotic delivery system? I’ve got Clarkson’s samples, whatever part of the cure was still crawling in his system will make it easier to synthesize, and the nanites will deliver it faster than the body could.”

Bruce sighed and Tony could picture him shaking his head.

“That’s highly experimental, Tony, not to mention dangerous. The targeting on that kind of technology hasn’t been perfected yet, not to mention it’s completely outside my field. Where would we even start? There’s a time factor here, isn’t there?”

Time factor, yeah, there had been a time factor. One Steve had hidden from them, along with so many other pieces of information. He’d had his reasons, but Steve _always_ had his reasons. Just like he’d had them on the tenth sub-floor. It had been a trick, a ruse, sure, but Natasha had moved with him so smoothly, without even communicating. Could he be blamed to think the disease had taken their minds like it had Barnes?

“We’ll go biology-based, retroviruses, Dr. Cho can probably help us with that new tech she’s been cooking up to print them out. They can directly target DNA, find what’s been damaged, swap it for what it should be, while the vaccine goes to work on their immune systems.”

“Tony,” Bruce said sharply, clearly irritated, “we’d need a clean sample of their DNA to start with. For Steve and Nat that should be fine, but Barnes? Not to mention this is all highly experimental. There’s no way we could test it before time ran out. We can’t just give them an experimental cure when we have no idea what it will even do to them.”

Tony swung his feet to the floor, Iron Man boots thumping against the deck.

“We can’t just let them turn into monsters either,” he said evenly. “You didn’t see what I saw, Bruce. Experimental or not, we have to do whatever we can, or we lose them and not to death. You leave the DNA samples to me, just contact Dr. Cho, see if she’ll help. I’ll be on my way to you both once I get through decon.”

There was a soft thump over the line.

“Yeah, okay,” Bruce agreed tiredly. “You doing all right?”

“Me?” Tony asked, feeling his chest tighten at the question. “I’m fine. You seen Pepper lately?”

“She brought me some food just a few hours ago.”

Tony took a breath, closing his eyes in relief. Reminding himself there was no threat to Pepper, that Steve had only been acting. He tried to stop his hands from shaking inside the suit. It was just so hard to get the image of Steve throwing the shield at him, breaking the suit, catching it again and Tony had…

“When will you be here?” Bruce asked. 

“Soon as I can,” Tony answered. “Gotta get some samples from the kiddos in case we need them later. Not gonna have the time to fly back and get them.”

“All right,” Bruce said, resigned and determined at once, “I’ll get the lab prepared and brief Dr. Cho.”

Tony nodded, even if his friend couldn’t see.

“See ya soon, Brucey.”

Terminating the call, Tony swung himself to his feet and motioned to Natasha.

“Come on, Nurse,” he quipped, “Need your fine hands for some delicate work.”

“Tony,” she said carefully and he knew exactly what was coming. An apology. As if he couldn’t see how perilous the situation had been, how delicate. They had done what they had to, because they were soldiers and that’s what they did. 

That knowledge didn’t help the memory from replaying. Steve’s attack, Natasha raising her gun, firing his chest repulsor. Watching Steve _burn_. 

“Don’t mention it, really,” he demanded while keeping his voice light. “We got work to do. Time limits, remember?”

Natasha frowned, but she followed him out of the cockpit into the back. Looking even worse in the quinjet’s harsh light, Barnes lay cuffed to the medical bed, completely still, and his eyes closed, Steve naked from the waist up at his side. Lines had appeared between Steve’s eyes that said he was thinking too much, twisting himself up. They were both prone to it, that never-ending thought spiral of guilt and self-blame, but Tony wasn’t the guy to help right now. He didn’t even have it in him to ask if he was all right, sitting as he was, patching up his own burns. 

Tony flicked his eyes to the side and down, triggering the suit to display its status on his screens. The gesture was so intuitive these days, he hardly registered he’d asked for it until it was floating before his eyes. His energy output was stable, air filters working at 100% capacity, no cracks or loosening apparent in any seals. He remained completely isolated from infection inside his baby.

Reaching into the med kit at Steve’s side, Tony pulled out six vacuum tubes and three needles, and passed them to Natasha.

“Here ya go, Nurse,” he said cheerfully, “Need two samples from each of you.”

“Each?” Steve asked, looking at Tony for the first time since he’d pulled his little stunt. 

Good, Tony thought, he should feel bad. Tony was the one wronged. It shouldn’t tear at him to see Steve’s arm wrapped in gauze, or the flesh that was stuck to the inside of the jacket lying on the floor, ripped from Steve when he’d pulled its melted remains off.

“Yep, the more the merrier. We’re going to be doing a lot of winging it with this little experiment. More we have to work with, better chances no one dies. As it is, we’re going to have to rely a lot on the serum to keep you all safe when we get this cure taken care of.”

“Steve, can I…” Natasha started.

“I got it, thanks,” Steve said shortly. Punishing himself, Tony guessed, and felt even worse. Which was not at all fair. It hadn’t been his fault, or his decision. He had been defending himself, protecting Pepper.

“I need your hands anyways. Nurse, remember?” Tony reminded her, thankful the suit didn’t let anybody see his eyes. “Taking a sample from a dead guy was one thing. I’m not stabbing any of you with needles in these gloves.”

Sighing, Natasha nodded. She hadn’t fallen for Steve’s lie either, but she wouldn’t. No one saw through Steve faster than Natasha. Well, maybe Barnes, but he was still out like a light. 

Handing over the tubes, he stepped back and watched as she pulled the protective plastic packaging off, and pulled up her left sleeve. Closing her fist tightly, she forced the veins closer to the surface and calmly slid the needle into the crook on her elbow. She deftly attached the tube which filled steadily with blood. When it was full, Nat didn't even flinch, didn't seem bothered at all as she switched to the empty tube and repeated the process. She pulled the needle out so cleanly there was barely a drop of blood on her skin. Quickly, efficiently; having the same weird skill set as Steve.

She passed Tony both, and he put them in a hidden container in the suit’s left calf.

Injured as he was, Steve didn’t try to take his own blood. He held out his arm to Natasha and she stepped forward. Tony knew he shouldn’t, knew it would only make him feel worse, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the way Steve moved. The bandages on his arm stretched, staining pink as they soaked up the plasma and exudate. The gauze on Steve’s chest was worse, the edge was red where Steve had torn his skin off stripping the melted jacket away. He’d broken blisters along the edges, not quite covered by the bandage Steve had wrapped around himself. They were pink, white, and weeping fluid. Likely, everything was healing already, but if Tony looked closely enough he could see the shape of Steve’s shield where it had blocked some of the heat damage.

It took Natasha as long to finish with Steve as it had on herself. Passing over the needles to Tony, she shifted to approach Barnes, and Steve caught her by an arm about the stomach. Not the bandaged one, that was stuck fast to his side, the gauze wrapping even around his fingers. It was messy, but Steve would heal fast.

“Steve, I need to get by,” Natasha said gently.

“No,” Steve said flatly.

“Okay,” Tony said slowly, “we know you’re enamored of the guy, but it’ll just take a second. No one’s going to hurt him.”

Steve looked straight at Tony again, as if he could meet his eyes even through the faceplate. It was difficult not to take a step back from the darkness he saw there. Darkness that matched what was going on in his own head. That was why they got along so well, they shared the same demons. But it was never easy to see them reflected back at him.

“They’ve already hurt him,” Steve said flatly. “No more experiments, no more needles, not when he’s cuffed to a bed and can’t argue. Do I really need to explain why?”

Shifting his gaze from Steve’s, Tony looked at Barnes and was surprised to find the Omega’s eyes open. Looking at Steve, awake, but for once silent. He wouldn’t have protested the blood sample, Tony could see that, but it only proved Steve’s point.

“No,” Tony said quietly, watching Barnes’ eyes close. Tony couldn’t read Barnes’ expression, couldn't tell what he was thinking. He could guess, though. Someone so violently independent and easily provoked… No, they couldn’t trust his calmness now. Which, Tony imagined, was why Steve had cuffed him to the bed. 

When Tony looked back to Steve, he was staring at his hands again.

“We’ll stay here,” Steve explained, “until the bomb drops. You do what you need to, but don’t contact us until then. We’ll head into S.H.I.E.L.D. when time’s up and… There’s a copy of Bucky’s deal on JARVIS’ server. I had him upload it, just in case.”

Tony’s stomach swooped, realizing what Steve meant by ‘just in case.’ 

“Don’t worry, Cap,” he said flippantly, “I’ll be back with a solution in a jiff. Two shakes of a dog’s tail, faster than a speeding bullet. You’ll see.”

A smile pulled up Steve’s lips. 

“See you soon, then.”

Backing up, Tony watched the three of them as he punched the button to open the airlock. The only movement was Natasha, seating herself on Steve’s other side, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Her red hair contrasted brilliantly with his skin when she laid her head against him, and Tony didn’t think he’d ever lose that image. And, for the first time, he thought he understood what Steve had felt when he’d chosen to leave Barnes behind.

“Get some food and fluid in you,” Tony ordered as he continued backing down the ramp, taking as much time as he could, “Keep up your strength, all that. Not that you need it, but it can’t hurt.”

Steve looked up at him again and Tony jumped, unable to hear whatever it was he’d say. 

\----

“Your bandages are terrible,” Natasha said to Steve as the quinjet sealed once more, the rushing air outside falling away. “Did you even use the burn ointment?”

“I did, yes,” Steve said patiently. When he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, it was clear he knew she planned to cheer him up. At least the gesture also meant he wouldn’t try to stop her.

“Will you let me re-wrap them?” Natasha asked, “Or are you gonna keep up with this martyr act?”

“There’s no need. It’ll heal soon enough anyway,” Steve protested, shifting his wounded arm away from her.

“The martyr act, then,” Natasha said matter-of-factly. “Why am I even surprised?” Bumping Steve’s shoulder with her own, to take the sting from her words, she said, “Not everything is your fault, Steve.”

“No, not everything,” Steve agreed too easily, “but this is.”

Natasha sighed.

“Wanna tell me what ‘this’ even is?”

With a sweep of his hand, Steve took in all of Barnes, but he didn’t stop with that.

“Tony, all those people we left to die, and how many more will get sick, or hurt when the nuke hits?” He shoved a hand through his hair. “How many more people are there like Bucky and Clarkson? I mean, are we even going to be able to find them all?”

“Slow down,” Natasha said soothingly, not the first time with Steve, wishing she was a Beta. “One issue at a time, all right? You’ll talk to Tony; Pepper will talk to Tony. He’ll forgive you. Us.”

Steve shook his head.

“It’s not about forgiveness. This is just… This is what he has nightmares about. I mean, not exactly, but _now_ this will be among them. And why? He’s a civilian, Nat. He didn’t… I need to stop taking him places like this.”

Natasha sighed, rubbing her cheek against his bicep. The fever was still leaving her hot, her thinking slow, and it wasn’t helping the exhaustion after everything they had been through. Neither was the blood loss, though she was healing. It didn’t happen as efficiently as Steve, making her leg a hindrance when moving. 

“When Tony put that suit on and announced to the world that he was Iron Man, he made that choice. It’s his decision, his choice to go into places like this. It actually had nothing to do with you, Steve,” Natasha said as firmly as she could, without sounding aggressive and making him defensive.

Still, the stubborn Alpha shook his head.

“He signed up to help people, Nat. Interfere in altercations where people were helpless and needed someone like him. Not…this.”

Both Steve’s hands swept into the air, indicating just about everything they had encountered at the Three Sisters. It had to hurt, but that was probably part of the point. Steve wasn’t a masochist, but he was dumb enough to think he deserved the pain.

Natasha sighed.

“You try telling him he can’t come, when he _knows_ we need him, because he’s a civilian. See how well _that_ goes.”

Finally, Steve cracked a genuine smile, even if it only lasted a second.

“Okay, you’ve got me there.”

“Honestly, Rogers,” she said fondly, “I have no idea why you even bother questioning me anymore. I am always right.”

Steve huffed, but that smile was back for another moment.

“I thought you only acted like you knew everything?”

“About you, I know everything. The rest, I’m probably guessing right, which is why the act is so convincing.”

Shaking his head, Steve leaned a little against her side, accepting the comfort she offered. It wasn’t something he did for many people, not even Tony made that list. Natasha took his weight gratefully, a sense of warmth flooding through her. She had never had this with anybody, never thought she could before Steve. The way she was trained, the way her fighting instincts were honed to a razor-sharp edge meant her ability to submit to an Alpha was practically nonexistent. 

That’s why Steve had been such a surprise, such an incredible miracle. What were the chances she would ever meet an Alpha so sure of himself that he didn’t need to enforce his will over others even a little? What were her chances of meeting somebody who would both deal with her changed physiology, her occupation, and Steve to boot? 

Instead of dwelling on it, she focused on how good it felt to be close to Steve, to be touching him and letting herself relax finally.

“What’s next on your things you know best about?” Steve asked, indulging her more than anything else.

“You can’t blame yourself for the World Security Council imprisoning Barnes, or blackmailing Clarkson. No,” she said when Steve opened his mouth, “you can’t and you _know_ that. Finding more people like them isn’t going to be easy, you’re right, but when has that stopped you?” 

“Last time I had pneumonia, I think.”

“Which was when?” Natasha asked sarcastically, “The ‘30s?”

“‘38, I think,” Steve replied, and this time the smile stuck around. The jokes were weak, but that he was trying to be playful was all that mattered. “You’re gonna be up for that, though? Might not like what we find in Fury’s closet.”

“I didn’t join your pack to bail when things got hard,” Natasha chided. “We’re in this for the long haul. Me, Barton, Sam; wherever you go, Cap.”

Steve raised an eyebrow.

“Tony, Bruce, and Thor?”

“Thor is a prince with literal worlds to watch over. Bruce… His demons are worse than yours and Tony’s. They might be more than he can deal with. Tony… He’ll always love you, Steve, but you two don’t fight your battles the same way. Might put you on opposite sides of a fight some day.”

Steve blew out a breath and nodded, because he had also come to that conclusion on his own. That he’d wanted her opinion, though, was why he mattered so much to her. These days, Alphas weren’t as overbearing as they had once been, but they still normally dismissed her.

“Now,” she said firmly, “you said it yourself, we don’t know if it’s an actual nuke. A bunker buster would be more appropriate, considering how far underground the facility goes. Don’t think worst case scenario yet, okay?”

Instead of answering, Steve blew out a breath and gave her a long look. She bumped his shoulder again, but didn’t argue. The same reason he was such a tactical genius meant he couldn’t stop thinking of all scenarios. Worst, best, he made plans for them all. Six years of command experience wasn’t much, but experience alone wasn’t what made Steve a great leader, it had only made him better.

“Why don’t you go rustle us up some food, huh? See if you can find Stark’s snack stash? The protein supplements are _fantastic_ ,” she drawled sarcastically, “but real food would be nice.”

Steve grunted agreement, slid his hand through her hair comfortingly, and got up without jostling her leg. When he had disappeared into the pilot's cabin, the door whooshed shut behind him, and she turned her attention towards Barnes.

“I know you’re awake,” she said conversationally. “Can’t say if Steve does or not, but once he calms down he will.”

Barnes didn’t react, playing possum even when called out.

Natasha reached out her hand to poke him in the thigh. Before she could connect, his metal hand twisted in its cuff and caught her wrist in an unbreakable grip. It didn’t hurt, but she could feel the power in those metal digits. He could crush her wrist if he chose to, though something told her he wouldn’t. He was in control of himself, enough to shut them all out. It convinced her he wasn’t about to wage war on her. The choice of avoidance over confrontation meant he either felt weak, or was unsure how to proceed.

“Don’t touch me,” he rasped, voice sounding dry and parched. 

“I won’t,” she promised, knowing how important she had found it to have control of her own body after escaping the Red Room. 

“What do you want?” he asked, opening his eyes to look at her. They eyes were still odd, still not quite human. She hoped Tony would be able to fix him, and not just for her own sake, or Steve’s.

“To thank you,” she said.

She had the pleasure of watching him blink at her in bafflement, taken completely off guard.

“What?” he said finally.

Natasha smirked, pleased with herself.

“You didn’t lash out at Steve just now. Thank you. He feels guilty enough. He doesn’t need your anger on top of that.”

“You all spend too much time caring for his feelings.”

Shrugging, Natasha glanced at the door.

“If you haven’t noticed, he doesn’t spend much time caring for them himself. Besides,” she admitted quietly, “he lets me care for him. It’s not a privilege many get.”

“It’s not my job to care about his feelings,” Barnes said letting go of her wrist and jerking at the restraint until it screeched faintly.

“It’s not a job,” Natasha replied neutrally, quickly withdrawing her hand, “but he wouldn’t let you anyway, not when you’re part of it.”

“He didn’t mention me,” Barnes pointed out, proving he had been listening to at least some of their conversation.

“You wouldn’t know, with your eyes closed,” she threw back, then sighed. Arguing with Barnes got no one anywhere. “Still, thank you. Whether you like it or not, I appreciate it.”

“I don’t care,” Barnes said turning away.

“Jesus Christ, Barnes, it wouldn't kill you to be a decent human being for two minutes. People are being nice to you here!” she hissed at him, fed up with his attitude. How Steve put up with him was beyond her. 

He turned back, his too-dark eyes focusing on her.

“The distance is not helping!” he hissed, jaw clenching before facing away from her once more.

Natasha opened her mouth to snap at him before the true meaning of his words slammed into her. The distance from the hellhounds wasn’t helping the connection. Barnes wasn’t being an asshole right now. Well he _was_ , it was his damned default setting, but it wasn’t intentional this time. He was _fighting_. Fighting the sickness, the connection, whatever it was that had tethered to the hounds and Clarkson in the base. He had been fighting it alone.

“Last time, Steve’s scent, it helped,” she offered carefully.

“An Alpha, _any_ Alpha, touches me right now, and I swear I will snap,” he growled.

“He doesn’t have to touch you,” she pointed out, then added hurriedly, “We just want to help, Barnes.”

“You can't,” he hissed, tension lacing his voice. “I asked you to leave me there and you _didn’t listen._ ”

“No, you asked us to kill you,” Natasha snapped. “You thought there was a chance we’d leave you behind _twice_?”

Barnes tilted his head back, his neck straining as he pressed his head into the gurney, muscles standing out with the force. 

“Instead of dying on my terms, free, _this_ is what you gave me. Strapped to a gurney like a fucking lab experiment again. Thank you so very fucking much for this ‘upgrade’.”

“Are you crazy?” Natasha demanded bluntly. “Steve wouldn’t let anyone touch you. I’d actually like to see them try; they’d deserve what they got. And that’s not including what I’d do, or Tony. He’d just get there first.”

Something screeched, metal straining on metal. Natasha quickly verified the cuff securing his metal arm was attached, but the arm was lying loose, not pulling at the restraint. When she looked over at his other arm, she noticed that he was scratching the metal of the bed with his darkened fingernails. She watched as he straightened his fingers and did it again, leaving behind thin, silvery scratches in the enhanced metal.

Human nails couldn’t have done that kind of damage, but she bet the hellhound’s claws could.

“And yet here I am, restrained, being dragged somewhere against my wishes. You have no right to lecture me right now.”

“You need a refresher on what a lecture is,” Natasha said, crossing her arms, already sick of his arguments again. “And if you think I’ll apologize for saving your life, you’re sadly mistaken. Play the martyr with someone else.”

“It was my choice to make, not yours. You had no right!”

Natasha snorted derisively, but the cockpit door slid open again. Glancing at Steve, she saw the food in his hands, the way he took in Barnes’ angry expression and her defensive one. Well, if she was caught fighting with his pet project, she might as well say what was on her mind.

Turning to Barnes, she said sweetly, “I don’t assist suicide, sorry.”

“No, you just left me to die an agonisingly long, painful death, instead of a quick and clean one. Don’t expect me to be thankful.”

She twitched at that. No matter her reasons for going along with Steve’s plan, the words struck a chord with her. Ever since the Red Room, she had felt that same need, that instinct that it was her right to make any decision concerning herself, including her death. In his place, she wouldn’t have liked somebody taking that control. Ultimately, however, she believed Tony would find a cure, that they would get out of this intact. She was with Steve, they weren’t going to let him give up.

“I was Red Room,” she said softly, getting up from her seat. She waited for his acknowledgement of this fact, but he didn’t give her anything. That lack of reaction meant he was aware of that fact already. “I know how much your agency means to you. I know how it feels to have it taken away, when your body is nothing but a tool in somebody else's hands. I believe Bruce and Tony can find a cure. They are both geniuses, brilliant on a scale that doesn’t happen more than once in a generation, and we have two such people on the team. They _can_ find a cure.”

Barnes wasn’t looking at her, but he wasn’t projecting anger quite so hotly, either. 

“And if it turns out they can’t?” Barnes asked, his voice raspy. 

Briefly, Natasha wondered if his throat was damaged. He was quieter now, at least some of his anger having faded. Something in what she had said had reached him. If she had to guess, he knew a lot more about Red Room than he let on. That was good, even if some part of her hated that he would know so much about the darkest times in her past. It did mean she could reach him, which even Steve had had trouble with. Thing was, for people like her and Barnes, it wasn’t the lies that were used to manipulate, it was the truth.

“If they can’t, I swear I will make sure you have a quick and painless death, no matter what anybody says.”

One of Red Rooms most successful intimidation tactics was leaving their agents, victims, with the knowledge that they wouldn’t even allow you to die. That in your darkest, weakest hour, you couldn’t even dream of death as they ensured you couldn’t escape that way. Having someone promise, and be sincere, that there would be an end, that the suffering wouldn’t be endless, mattered. It would for her, and judging by the subtle lessening of the tension in Barnes’ body, it meant something for him too.

Barnes tilted his head towards her enough to look at her from the corner of his dark, changed eyes, judging her veracity.

“I was thinking the quinjet’s self-destruct would be quick enough,” Steve said, his voice deceptively casual considering what he was admitting to. “Blast’s powerful and I’ve got a penchant for going down with planes.”

Groaning, Natasha rolled her eyes at him, but took the offered snacks he had found. Looking to Barnes, he held out several full-sized candy bars.

“Think that can be the plan? Because I really hate leaving you cuffed to that thing.”

“Not enough not to cuff me to it,” Barnes snapped at him.

Steve let it roll off him, shaking his head. Natasha thought he had the patience of a saint to deal with Barnes for so long and still find him attractive.

“No, not enough to do that.”

Frowning, Barnes eyed Steve’s offering.

“I get the candy?”

Steve’s lips twitched in a smile.

“Yes. Nat got the chips.”

“And what do you get?” Barnes demanded, much to Natasha’s surprise. As much as he hated it, it was probably impossible for him to completely repress his Omega nature. Like Alphas, they were born to take care of others.

“A shake,” Steve answered easily, “more calories than the both of you.”

Barnes’ lips twitched to the side and then he nodded.

“All right, that can be the plan, but I’m still not thanking you.”

Though the smile remained in place, any contentment or joy, drained from Steve’s eyes. Natasha wanted to punch Barnes someplace painful. Hadn’t they just gone over this? Did it really have to be said again? She didn’t actually think Barnes felt better when he hurt Steve.

“I never expected you would,” Steve replied, walking to the trolley and coding in the combination that released both cuffs at once. “Thing is, I didn’t do it for you. I couldn’t leave you behind again.” He dropped the candy onto Barnes’ stomach, not touching him for a moment. “So, I did it for me, and I can only hope you’ll understand that some day.”

Barnes’ hand shot out, grabbing Steve’s wrist and squeezing hard enough Natasha could hear the bones grind. Though she reached for her pistol, she didn’t pull it. Steve winced, but made no effort to get away. 

“You don’t get to make decisions for me,” Barnes snarled.

Something shifted in Steve and he leaned into Barnes’ space, his posture as challenging as Barnes.

“I’m your commanding officer,” Steve said in his Captain America voice, “That’s exactly what I get to do. I make the decisions, I make the calls, no matter my reasons. You’ve still got nine more hours under my command, _Sergeant_. Frankly, I’m not even obligated to explain myself.”

“You want to go that way?” Barnes asked, and there was something terrible in his voice. He looked straight at Steve, eyed darkened by the sickness. Natasha froze. For all that the words were simple, there was something extremely dangerous in that moment.

 

“You know I don’t,” Steve said, his voice softening, even if he didn’t lean back. He didn’t attempt to fight his way free of Barnes’ hold, either. Didn’t even pulling back. “You leave me few options.”

“Then shut the fuck up. You are so fucking sure yours is the only way, the only true and perfect way, it’s absolutely useless talking to you.” 

Barnes got up from the bed in one sharp move, rolling up and off, getting the candy gathered in one hand. He was at the other end of the jet in a heartbeat, sitting in a seat facing away from them and slumping down enough that they could barely see the top of his head over the back of the seat. Steve didn’t move from the bed, his arm still in the air as if Barnes was trying to break it even now. 

Natasha caught Steve’s arm and pulled him out towards the cockpit, leaving more distance between Barnes and him.

“He’s not in any kind of state to talk rationally now, Steve,” she reassured. “It’s useless until we know if Tony has the cure or not. You can’t reach him, nobody can now.”

“I can’t reach him period, Nat,” Steve said tiredly, taking the co-pilot’s seat. “He’s right, and his yelling at me won’t change that, neither will my explaining until I’m blue in the face.”

Natasha snorted. They were such freaking men it was horrifying.

“Well, he did try to avoid confrontation at first. I think,” Natasha said getting comfortable in the pilot’s chair and stretching her leg out under the console. It eased the strain on the damaged muscles, lessening the dull pain. “I can’t see him doing that for anybody he didn’t at least like a little bit. I shouldn’t have tried to talk to him yet, I miscalculated.”

Steve just shook his head stubbornly.

“Buck- Barnes is as sure he’s right as I am. He’s not going to listen to anyone.”

“He’s in an unknown amount of pain, dealing with unknown mental factors right this second, and probably still reeling from the control Clarkson had over him. You can’t expect rational thought from him right now.”

“You say that like this is new. Before that, he was the same. The only difference is how recent his loss of control is, and that I did it to him too.”

Natasha gave Steve an exasperated look just as she ripped the bag of chips open. The smell of spices and greasy fried potatoes hit her like a sledgehammer, making her mouth water instantly. God she was hungry for normal, tasty food. Steve took a page from her book, digging into their supplies and starting to make himself another shake.

“Before he was argumentative and provoking because he was testing you,” Natasha explained patiently, though she wasn’t entirely certain she was doing the right thing encouraging Steve. “And yeah, he was bitter and angry and still suffering from trauma no one ever bothered to help him through. That was all calculated behavior. He skirted the edge, but never actually pushed past your comfort limits. He needled and poked, but worked with you and us anyway. 

“Right now, he is nothing but an animal caught in a snare, ready to chew its own paw off to escape. This is totally different, Steve.” She ate a fistful of the chips and groaned at the sweet peppers and spices that hit her tongue. Goddamn it, but she wanted a steak, with new potatoes and a huge salad on the side. And butter. Lots and lots of butter. “If you ask my opinion, that back there? That was restrained for him. We already saw how well he can get under your skin if he really wants to. If he had, he would have cut at you so much more than he actually did.”

Grimacing in distaste, Steve downed his shake without pausing; the better to avoid tasting as much as possible. He didn’t reply to her, which was as much a response as actual words. He didn’t believe her assessment. Thankfully, that was due more to his own mental state than his opinion of her capabilities. It also meant he’d fallen a lot harder for Barnes than she’d suspected.

“You’re compatible with him, aren’t you?” Natasha asked quietly.

“You know how common that is?” Steve asked his bottle of nutrient supplements. “Statistically, I shouldn’t have found one Omega I’m compatible with. I’ve found three, and just look how well that’s gone. All those things they tell you, about destiny and compatibility and soulmates; lemme tell you, it’s bullshit. It’s just biology.”

Natasha snorted softly.

“Bet you didn’t expect a super soldier with a metal arm and an attitude of a bear woken up in the middle of winter.” She snickered with the exhausted humor of those stressed to their limits. “But really, if you look at this a certain way, you two are so similar it hurts.”

“Yeah?” Steve asked, looking at her finally and raising an eyebrow. “How’s that?”

“You _love_ to argue,” Natasha snorted again seeing the offended expression on his face. “No, don’t give me that look. You do. You make it look all polite and nice but you will press and press and press until you make people agree to your point of view. Barnes clearly adores arguing too, he’s just less polite about it. You both are fond of pulling stupid, dangerous stunts _just_ because you can, and you both are mulishly stubborn.”

“Oh, great, we share each other's horrible traits,” Steve said sarcastically. 

“But Steve,” Natasha ate another fistful of chips and batted her eyelashes at him. “imagine the hours and hours of arguments you can have with him and neither of you would ever give up or get bored!”

“I’m not so bad,” Steve protested, but she could tell even he didn’t mean it.

Natasha chewed for a while, thoughtfully.

“Okay, maybe not _quite_ as bad,” she made sure to put a hard emphasis on the word ‘quite’. “You could both spend time doing stupid stunts like jumping out of planes without a parachute and then critique each other's performance?”

“One time,” Steve insisted, but he was smiling at her, “It wasn’t planned, _one time_.”

Natasha put her hand in the bag and was heartbroken to find only a few crumbling chips inside. She had eaten them all. Mournfully she started licking her fingers clean of the spices.

“How’s your wrist?” she asked casually.

Rotating the joint in question, Steve shrugged.

“Sprained at least. It’ll be fine in a few hours either way.”

“He could have grabbed the other arm,” she pointed out.

Steve winced, catching her meaning.

“Fair enough, but not causing me pain isn’t really much to go on.”

Shrugging, Natasha held out her hand for the rest of his drink.

“He’s broken, Rogers. You knew that to start with,” she sighed, sliding lower in the seat and lifting both her legs to rest on top of the console. It made the top of her ass press into the edge of the seat a bit too hard, but it also made her leg feel better. “Unfortunately, unlike me, he’s still at the stage where he mostly wants the world to hurt like he hurts.”

Leaning her head back, Natasha tried to relax as best as she could. Steve was smart, he would get what she meant eventually. That if he really wanted Barnes, he would have to wait out the aggression stage, until the acceptance stage came. Barnes needed to feel that he was free before he would even consider opening himself to anybody. There was no magic cure, no argument that would work instantly. As daunting as it was, waiting was the only thing to do.

“What stage are you at now?” Steve asked quietly.

“Where I want to actually start building something.” 

Steve chuckled.

“Hate to break it to you, but you already have.”

Natasha smiled.

“I did, didn’t I?” 

It was impossible for her not to feel warm and happy when she thought about the small, unconventional pack they had created.

“Take a nap,” Steve half-commanded, half-suggested. “It’ll help your leg and I promise not to fight with Barnes until you wake up.”

“What a promise,” Natasha laughed, closing her eyes. “It’s not a bad idea. See you in forty.”

Natasha’s nap ended up being far more than forty winks. More like two hours. When she awoke, it was to a niggling at the back of her brain. She thought muzzily of water, of thirst, and was halfway to getting up, yawning and feeling worse than before she had slept, before she realised something was wrong. An instinct that reminded her of being temporarily bonded, or feeling someone else’s desires, emotions. Because it wasn’t her throat that was parched, but someone, someone _bonded_ to her, was.

“Steve?” Natasha said shakily, but when she looked he was out as well. He didn’t so much as twitch as she stood, feeling that thirst scratching at her throat, and dug into the bag by his feet. The water bottles were easy to find and she grabbed one before following that pull, that desire, into the back of the plane. Barnes didn’t even look up at her as she held the water out to him as an offering.

It sloshed inside the plastic as her hands shook.

Barnes must have been sleeping as well, because she watched him rub at his face before reaching out to take the bottle from her, never once opening his eyes. His fingers touched the cool plastic in the same moment his eyes snapped open, glowing red and locked unerringly on her face. Natasha let go of the water and stumbled back with a choked gasp, the desire fading from her as suddenly as it had begun. His hand was frozen in mid air, fingers stiff as the bottle fell to the floor, bounced, and rolled away. 

Natasha backed away further, tripping over one of the bolts securing the gurney and falling over with thud. That unfroze Barnes from his position and he scrambled backwards, away from her as if it was she who was the threat here, his metal hand whining as it powered up. She could feel his rejection all through her, that deep and instinctive _no_ that shook her to the core. There were tears stinging her eyes and her chest constricted sharply, as if she couldn’t breathe suddenly. Still, she couldn’t take her eyes away from Barnes, from those eyes which were getting wider and wider in his face as the grey tint to his skin became stronger. She crawled backwards awkwardly and so did he, scrambling over the seats until he was all but wedged into a corner of the bay.

Then Steve was there, striding in from the cockpit and heading straight for her. He knelt beside her, between Barnes and her, his hand coming around her shoulders and pulling her close. “Hey,” he murmured soothingly, “it’s all right. You’re all right,” and turned her face into his neck, away from Barnes.

“Steve where… How did you know? What…?” she babbled, terrified and confused, the overwhelming sense of rejection weighing on her. It left her ashamed because she was bad, and not enough...

“I was told,” Steve answered calmly, not a hint of bitterness or panic in his tone. Or in his scent, for that matter. “He called me too.”

“Called?” she asked feeling slow and stupid, and denying what she already suspected.

Because he was Steve, he knew what she was doing, but he nodded as if the question wasn’t pointless.

“It’s okay,” he said again, his fingers combing through her hair, “We’re both all right. Just a few more hours to wait, okay?”

Faintly she was aware of Barnes picking himself up from where he’d wedged himself. A wild mix of emotions was emanating off him, along with that freaking sense of thirst. It was beneath that mix of rejection, terror and confusion, but it was still there.

As calm as ever, Stever just turned his head toward Barnes and said, “Your water rolled under your chair.”

Barnes licked his lips, but his eyes were wide, and if they were their normal colors, she would probably be seeing his whites. It took her a moment to understand Steve’s previous words, realise that he was feeling the same things as she, that he was sensing Barnes' thirst just as clearly as she did. And the bond felt so very one-sided. She could feel Barnes, feel what he wanted right then, but she was also sure he couldn’t feel her in return. It was biased, this bond, heavy and overwhelming, making his desires supercede her own. She had been up from her seat and going for the water even before she had been properly awake. What was even more terrifying was she hadn’t stopped even when she had realised what was happening.

And it was strong enough that it allowed an Omega to control an Alpha.

Natasha looked to Steve again, expecting to find fear there now that he had realised the extent of what was happening, how the natural order was all turned on it’s ear, but Steve was calm. He kept carding his fingers steadily through her hair, his hands gentle while his body was loose. When she looked into his eyes, still blue, though not the sky blue they normally were. They were darker, more grey around the edges, but he was calm. Resigned maybe, but calm.

How could he be so calm with so much rejection being pushed through the bond at the both of them, was beyond her. There was so much, ‘no, go away’, it was nauseating. Dimly, she understood Barnes was even more terrified than her. He reacted as if it was her mind invading his, not the other way around.

Sighing, Steve lifted his chin, baring his throat to Barnes for the second time she’d seen. He’d never done that to anyone before. Not even Tony. 

Barnes looked. For all his growling and posturing, Barnes always looked at Steve. He never, ever truly ignored the Alpha. Now too, his eyes flickered to Steve’s throat, then his face, and back to his throat. He stilled, stopped his nervous looking around.

“It’s okay,” Steve said yet again, but this time to Barnes. “You haven’t done anything wrong, and you’re safe now. You see that, don’t you? You can be sure we won’t hurt you. So, it’s okay.”

Barnes’ face twisted horribly.

Lowering his arms to hang at his side, he all but snarled, muscles tensing and bunching under his skin. “I didn’t want this! I don’t want this! I don’t want control over anyone!” If she didn't know better, Natasha would think he was on the verge of crying. “I just wanted to be left alone. Never _this_!”

“We know,” Steve assured, the calm never wavering. He hesitated, then offered his hand to Barnes. “It’s okay, Bucky. I know. I understand,” Steve said gently.

Barnes made a small step forward, then another until he was just out of reach. Under the horror of it all, Natasha couldn’t help but think that it was ridiculous behavior for the one in control now. Yet, Barnes was terrified out of his mind. It took him an agonizingly long time to come closer, close enough that when he knelt down beside them, she could feel his knees touching her side. Steve touched his upper arm and Barnes _let_ him, keeping utterly still. She had a feeling that if she tried touching him, he would bolt immediately. For Steve he held still, though.

The contact helped, the overwhelming sense of shame and rejection eased, and let her be more herself so that she had space to think again.

Barnes lowered his head, letting his hair fall into his face. After a few minutes, when Natasha was sure her heartbeat was back under control and her mind was as much hers as it could be, Barnes spoke again.

“Keep her away,” he said to Steve. “Keep her safe.”

Natasha blinked, only understanding it meant _from him_ , when Barnes licked his lips and whispered softly “Please.”

“If that’s what you need,” Steve agreed, as if he had a choice in the matter. Lowering his chin, he shifted his grip on her to pick her up as he stood, carrying her back into the cockpit. 

Before the doors closed, Natasha could see Barnes staring after them with wide, haunted eyes, glowing faintly red.


	17. Chapter 17

Bucky had taken the seat farthest from the cockpit. He kept completely still, not allowing himself to even glance at the cockpit door. Keeping still was about all he could do. There were so many things pulling at him, tearing his mind to pieces. There were dozens of minds yearning for him, calling for him. It was constant, and the distance from the base wasn’t helping. It hurt, wrenched at his thoughts, at his entire body. 

And now there were more, just beyond that door. Two bright points of connection just adding to the pain and the terror Bucky already felt. 

Worse, Bucky could still feel her fear, her utter terror that he would take her will from her once more. It only lessened when Steve seemed to get her to sleep again, though he himself had remained awake. Watchful, following Bucky’s orders to keep Natasha from him. He was calm, despite the surprising amount of guilt that was eating at him. Bucky didn’t know what the source of his guilt was, the emotion was too jumbled up to distinguish. If he were completely honest, Bucky didn’t want to know. He was doing what he could to keep his distance. What else might he make Steve do if he focussed on the man too much?

Even that was fading, eaten, Bucky suspected, by the connection. He remembered it well himself, how his emotions had begun to feel muted. How even his anger had dissipated. Now he was doing that to Steve, to Romanova, taking from them not just their will, but who they _were_. 

It was only thanks to Steve that Bucky wasn’t still trapped in Clarkson’s mind, and this was his thanks?

Bucky had done to others what had been done to him. He had become the monster he most feared. There had been no question at the time of what to do. The primal instinct to tear into an opponent until they stopped moving had been overwhelming. He hadn’t expected to end up as Clarkson’s replacement, but the moment the other hound died, the connection had snapped into place. There were so many points. They pulled at him, made it hard to remember who and what he was. 

Then they’d taken him from the Three Sisters and Bucky had never felt so much pain. The connections screamed, they tore at him, it hurt so damned much. No matter how long he closed his eyes and tried to push out the voices clamoring inside his head to focus on the sensation of the hard plastic chair under his thighs, the feedback of his metal arm resting over the steel arm rest, he couldn’t rid himself of that awareness. 

Even now, Bucky wasn’t quite sure why he’d agreed to lead the team to the escape tunnel. He hadn’t wanted to leave, knew he couldn’t trust the team not to pull something over on him. Yet, he had wanted to offer Steve that goodbye, that moment he’d been denied by Hydra, and so he had turned his back on them, agreed to walk them towards the wall. He shouldn’t have been surprised when he felt the bite, but he had been.

Closing his eyes, Bucky tried to lock it all away. The hounds, the people in the cockpit, focusing singularly on the physical sensations, on his discomfort, the pain he was experiencing, the various not-completely healed injuries. He locked his metal arm over the back of the chair, as if that would keep him from moving.

The plane tilted, banking for the first time in hours, making the water bottle roll out from under the seats and thump against Bucky’s boots. For a long while, Bucky stared at it without really seeing it, before slowly reaching for it with his flesh hand. He picked it up, using his teeth to open it rather than unlock the arm from its position, and drank.

The water felt good against his parched throat and mouth. Cool and sweet, it tasted wonderful. He drank it all before he realised what he was doing, not aware of how thirsty he had been. 

Tossing aside the bottle, Bucky closed his eyes and tried his best to meditate. He made his breaths slow and even, stretched his legs out in front of himself, and focused on the way the cloth of his tactical gear stretched tightly over his thigh, how the edge of the seat was pressing into his ass, how tired he was. Though he tried to keep his mind blank, the cessation of irritation from one of the minds closest to him drew his attention. Steve, he thought, feeling satisfaction take the place of that annoyance. 

Bucky tried to ignore it, ignore what Steve was feeling and how it made little sense, but he was unable to meditate at all when Steve became abruptly battle-alert. It yanked him to awareness as a shock of sensation came from the link, and Bucky opened his eyes just as the door leading to the cockpit opened. Steve’s large figure filled the space as the connection flared between them again. Bucky turned his head away, focusing on the physical sensation, the pain splitting his head and shutting Steve out.

“Tony’s inbound,” Steve said, not leaving the doorway, keeping Bucky from Romanova. “He said he has the cure, or,” Steve corrected himself, probably sensing Bucky’s doubts, “what he feels should work as one.”

Steve didn’t need Bucky to reply, so he didn’t. They remained like that, Bucky firmly in his seat at the end of the bay, Steve in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, as they waited for Stark’s arrival. Bucky let go of the armrest, releasing the security lock on his fingers and folded his arms over his chest too. Though he tried to be subtle about it, he put the metal arm on the outside to hide how much his fingers were changed.

The quinjet ramp lowered, wind whipping through the jet. Stark landed at the edge and walked up, his boots thumping over the metal floor.

“Uh, honey, I’m home,” Tony called as the ramp began closing behind him, obviously angling for some kind of reaction from the Alpha. Steve didn’t so much as twitch with a smile. With the situation they were in, nobody felt like joking, if they felt like anything at all. 

“Do you have it?” Steve asked calmly, the same rasp to his voice that Bucky had had since being free of Clarkson’s control.

“Do I have it?” Tony said, clearly trying not to show how nervous he really was. Bucky wasn’t the one who knew that, however, Steve did too. And thanks to their connection, whatever Steve knew translated to Bucky verbatim. “So little faith, mon capitan. Sit, lemme stick ya and find out.”

Steve shook his head.

“Barnes first,” he declared and then grimaced as if someone had pinched him, sensing how displeased Bucky was with Steve using his last name. It wasn’t supposed to be punishment, but the connection was so disproportional that any kind of negative feeling on Bucky’s part immediately translated that way for those connected to him.

Looking to Bucky, Steve asked, “Unless you’d rather someone else be the guinea pig?”

“Steve,” Tony interrupted before Bucky could answer, “you’re already showing signs of the infection and your serum was the proper stuff. You should be first since you have the highest chance of survival.”

Steve shook his head. Bucky didn't bother to say anything, but with the kind of influence he had over both Steve and Natasha, curing Bucky and breaking the connection was the only solution. They felt it now too, the inescapable bond between them. To get rid of it, they would have to either cure Bucky, or kill him. 

“Tony,” Steve said with a gentleness borne out of pity. “We can’t break the connection until he’s cured.” 

“What connection?” Tony demanded.

“You were gone a long time, Stark,” Bucky said finally, tired of Steve’s guilt and his pussyfooting about. “The infection spread. I have control over both Steve and Romanova, the same way I have control of the hounds. Giving him the cure wouldn’t help right now.”

Some part of him expected Steve to admonish him for the rudeness, for cutting in uninvited, but of course Steve didn’t. Steve _couldn’t_. Bucky felt it, though, the irritation that he had spoken to Stark the way he had.

Steve watched Stark tense, and Bucky felt him read the fear in Stark’s suddenly-jerking movements. The fear that he’d lose Steve, Natasha, the family he’d found. The guilt in Steve flared again, but the only outward sign was how he pressed his lips together.

“Well,” Stark said slowly, as if thinking through his answer on the fly, “That would make sense, and I can see why you’d think that, but if you’re cured, you will reject the bond. The cure will reject the changes that have been made to your body. It’s going to take some time, it’ll probably hurt and you’ll feel like you have the worst flu ever, but in a few days you’ll feel right as rain. No pesky, lingering, mutated bonds to worry about.”

Steve sighed, shifting his stance so that the way his fingers had darkened and greyed was clearly visible. Manipulating Stark, Bucky realized, as calmly as he delivered a lecture, because Steve was sure Bucky taking the cure first was right. And he was always sure. Always so damned sure of his path, his very self, his actions. It _infuriated_ Bucky, and Steve flinched again.

“Him first,” Steve said again, dismissing Stark’s declaration. No, he hadn’t, he would take the cure before Bucky was healthy again. He still felt Bucky needed it first, being the sickest. The bond was affecting him though, making him think about Bucky, leaving him desperate to please and care for Bucky so much so his own well-being meant nothing. No matter Steve’s convictions, it was affecting how he thought and reasoned.

Huffing, Stark nevertheless made his way to Barnes, his suit clanging up the metal floor. He stopped before Bucky and held out his hand.

“Give it up then,” Stark demanded as he pulled a hypo from the container he had put Steve and Natasha’s blood samples in. Waving at Bucky with it, he pressed, “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Bucky still hesitated. There had been so many mad scientists experimenting on him, could anyone really blame him? One could say that things couldn’t get worse, but Bucky had thought that on multiple occasions, and was always proven wrong.

“Side-effects?”

Before Stark could answer, Steve sighed.

“I can take it first, Bucky,” Steve offered. “I said I’d be the guinea pig, so you can be sure it’s my choice.”

Bucky turned to look at Steve, confused. The man was such a strange human being. Bucky couldn’t understand how Steve could be so calm, so steady now. In a situation where a stranger, an Omega had all but taken over his mind, Steve still tried to comfort Bucky, tried to take care of him and of Romanova. His reaction was so strikingly different than his teammates. Romanova had freaked out completely, while Steve kept his cool, radiating only the calm, steady feeling of reassurance. It could be the bond, but Bucky didn't believe that was the reason. In all other situations, Steve had proved to be perfectly willing to fight Bucky toe-to-toe, but here, now, he consciously chose the role of a supporter rather than a challenger. 

Taking a breath, Bucky at least had Steve’s conviction that the cure wouldn’t kill them. Well, that Tony wasn’t _trying_ to kill them. If nothing else, he would go off that, because Steve couldn’t lie to him now. Couldn’t hold anything back and he genuinely believed in Stark.

Thrusting his arm forward, he muttered, “Do it.”

Taking Bucky’s arm, Stark pressed the hypo into a vein in his elbow. The needle pinched his skin, the device hissed, and the green fluid dropped a little lower in its syringe. Whatever it was that Stark injected him felt like liquid ice burning through his veins. He hissed out a breath, flexing his hand as the tips of his fingers numbed like they had been exposed to frigid temperatures. The sensation spread along his entire body swiftly, leaving Bucky shivering, his teeth chattering loudly as his body tried desperately to warm up. His chest seized and he coughed, almost biting his tongue.

Distantly he heard Steve call his name and fight against Bucky’s orders to protect Natasha so Steve could come to him. It wasn’t just comfort he wanted to offer, however, it was protection. Bucky’s body felt this was an attack, and that had translated to Steve, who shouted at him again, his body and mind torn between the two orders.

Stark was shouting, too, startled by both their reactions.

Bucky tried to curl his flesh hand closer to his body, pressing it between his thighs to warm it up. Twitching his feet, he tried to assure himself he still had his toes because he couldn’t even feel them any more. Then the first spasm hit, making him explosively vomit what little food he still had in his stomach. He fell out of the chair and onto the floor, barely catching himself with his metal arm as the flesh one was useless. He continued to retch, hair falling into his eyes, but the matter he’d expelled was black and viscous, puddling disgustingly on the floor.

“Oh, that’s gross,” he heard Stark announce from somewhere above him. Bucky tried to growl, displeased with somebody standing over him when he was such a mess, but couldn’t, too busy throwing up what felt like half the liquid in his body.

Behind Steve, Bucky could see Romanova, kicking at him, trying to get to him as well. It solved at least Steve’s dilemma as he tackled her back into the cockpit. They struggled on the floor until he pinned her thighs with his legs, his arms locked about her head. Bucky felt Steve’s sorrow as he applied pressure, taking her breath, denying her oxygen and blood to her brain until she fainted in his arms.

“Steve!” Stark shouted. “Stop!”

Bucky wanted to laugh at Stark thinking Steve could listen to him, could even listen to himself. He couldn’t and now that Romanova was out of the picture, there was nothing stopping Steve from coming to Bucky. Obeying the bond, his intent flying to Bucky before he even began to move. Then again, maybe Stark wasn’t as stupid as he was acting. As Steve began to uncurl from around Romanova, he took two quick, loud steps, to Steve’s side and jammed the hypo into Steve’s neck.

There was a moment of shock, of anger, and then nothing. 

The connection cut out.

Not to everyone, just to Steve, the brightest point that had been in Bucky’s mind. The loss felt like a wound, bleeding in his mind. His eyes were all that saw Steve, when every part of him had known moments before. He lay half-sprawled on the floor, a hand pressed to his throat, his eyes wide and, for the first time, frightened. 

But Bucky couldn’t feel it. 

Stark had taken him away.

Despite the weakness in his limbs, the contractions that still wracked his stomach, Bucky surged to his feet. He rushed the armored Omega, the target of all the anger in Bucky’s mind. The bastard had taken what was his, had taken that clear, calm sea at the heart of his storm. Bucky would make him pay for that, make him hurt like Bucky hurt.

“Bucky,” Steve gasped and Stark turned.

Ducking beneath Bucky’s out-swept arms, he stepped back and Bucky roared. The sound filled the quinjet, filled his ears and his chest. Romanova moaned in unconsciousness, Steve flinched, but Stark met his next charge full on. Met him, caught him about the arm and chest, lifted him, and slammed him to the floor again.

Bucky’s head cracked against the metal flooring, and the blackness too over.

\----

Some say that hearing was the first sense to return when one was unconscious. For Bucky, it was always smell. His Hydra handlers had liked to take away his senses as punishment, but rarely bothered with smell. This felt like that. It was hard to wake up, his limbs leaden and body unresponsive; an unsettling contrast to his usually quick reactions. Bucky was aware enough to realise he wasn’t on the plane any more. This place smelled different, of dust and a large air conditioning system. It was the over-purified air of a building far larger than the jet he had been on. Over it all, over the smell of industrial cleaning solution, there was one distinctive scent. Overpowering and familiar to everything he had known with Hydra.

Rut.

An Alpha’s rut. 

He was in a room with an Alpha in rut, the pheromones sharp and hot in his nose, making his surge with mixed reactions. There was fear, but interest in equal measure. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, flooding his body so that his heart beat faster and his muscles finally responded. 

Then he realized the roaring he heard wasn’t just his blood rushing in his ears, it was the sound of the chaos around him. Of challenge and threat. An Alpha in rut _fighting_ over him.

Bucky’s eyes snapped open to find he was lying on a gurney in a square, sterile room. As his hands reached for his gun, his knives, _anything_ , he sat up and paused at the sight before him. Trying to wrap his mind around the sight of men in hazmat suits, two of them, backed into a corner of what looked to be a small medbay. All around there were scattered implements and trays, an overturned cabinet with its drawers ripped out and thrown all over the room.

In front of them was the source of their fear. Steve, his back tense, shoulders raised and head lowered, displaying all signs of preparing another attack at any moment. As Bucky watched, he grabbed a nearby table and launched it at the other side of the room as if it was made of paper mâché and not metal. It hit the wall so hard it warped, and made the suits flinch in unison.

Bucky looked down at himself, relieved to find himself still in his pants, though his upper body was clad in a medical gown. They had taken his boots as well. A fact that upset him for some reason.

“I won’t let you take him,” Steve growled, challenge ripping from the words. Demanding the two in the room submit, but they couldn’t smell it in their suits. It was hard to miss, though. If not the smell, then the way he was all but looming over the suits, aggression and challenge in every line of his body.

“Captain Rogers,” the first said, her face indistinguishable in her suit, “you can’t be left with an Omega when you’re in rut. It’s unethical. We took Agent Romanov for the same reason.”

The growl that rippled through the room did funny things to Bucky’s stomach.

“You can’t have him,” Steve declared, rational thinking flown out the window.

Bucky lowered his feet to the floor, intending to stand up, but seriously overestimated his physical condition, and stumbled when his legs refused to hold him up. It took a moment for him to right himself.

“Steve,” he said, willing to risk facing Steve for the chance of getting more information. As he kept his flesh hand on the gurney to hold himself up, his eyes were drawn to the fact his fingers were the normal, pink color again and his nails, while broken and dirty, were definitely human and clear.

At his name, Steve whirled to face him, taking a step forward before halting like he had slammed face first into a glass wall. 

“Buck,” Steve’s voice had lost all challenge, his posture open as he was no longer facing the suits, “you’re not well. You gotta lie down.”

“Where am I?”

“We’re in the hospital wing of the Triskelion,” Steve answered easily, “In D.C. They put us in isolation. You’ve been out for a while, I’m… Well,” he wiped at sweat beading his brow and smiled weakly, “You can smell what I am.”

“Human,” Bucky said, his eyes tracking back to his normal hand again and again. He looked at Steve and saw the traces of changes that visibly before were gone now. No more greying, mottled skin. No more darkened eyes. 

And it was quiet in Bucky’s mind, just him within his own skull. The bond was gone, or at least dampened enough that it wasn’t chipping at his sense of self any more. 

“Yes,” Steve said, over-eager, as if he still wanted nothing more than to please Bucky. “Tony’s cure worked.”

Bucky nodded, his body still feeling more like it was made of jelly but it wasn’t actively hurting anywhere so, yeah, the cure worked better than he could have hoped.

“The virus was suppressing your rut,” Bucky said bluntly, realising the reason Steve had smelled of approaching rut for so long, but had never quite hit it while in the base. Alphas were aggressive and temperamental while in rut, heavily dominating, impossible to control. The virus had allowed for only one leader.

There was no point in denying it, so Steve nodded readily. His nostrils were flaring, scenting Bucky from where he stood. He wasn't getting closer, but the way his nostrils were flying open on hard, deep puffs of air felt incredibly intimate.

“It hit just after isolation,” Steve confirmed. “Now they want to take you and I can’t… I can’t let them, Buck. I don’t know where they’ll take you, or what they’ll do.” He shoved both his hands through his hair, tension racing through his torso again. “I can’t protect you if you’re not here.”

Again he took a step forward, proving there was no actual invisible wall. Just as quickly, Steve took two backwards. Away from Bucky, but still between him and the suits. As if he was actually doing this to keep him safe, not to keep him to mate.

Bucky was still on his suppressants, he could feel it. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if he had been injected with another dose while unconscious. His body felt too cool for it to be otherwise. Almost against his will he inhaled deeply, getting a lungful of Steve’s pheromones. He smelled amazing, sharp and clean and spicy at the same time. He didn’t even realise he was moving towards Steve until the man in question surged forward before checking himself again.

“I don’t need your protection,” Bucky snapped. 

He had no idea who he was more angry at, himself, or Steve.

“I know,” Steve said quickly, his words spilling out of him as fast as they could. “But Fury’s out there, and the World Security Council, and you don’t have your papers, and they can’t give the release until after I’m debriefed, and I can’t be debriefed until the rut is over so they could… I don’t know. I don’t _know_ , but if you’re here, you’re safe.”

As Steve talked, his hand closed absently on the railing of the nearest gurney. Bucky watched, fascinated, as the metal railing was spilling and bunching between Steve’s fingers as if it was a piece of dough, not metal. Steve didn’t even appear to be aware, his focus so completely on Bucky he seemed to have even forgotten the suits.

“Captain Rogers,” the suit from before tried again, “we’re just taking him to another isolation room. Just one room over. He’ll still be in the building. Your fear is just the rut talking, just your protective instincts going out of control. If you’ll just let us…”

The thing was, Steve wasn’t being completely unreasonable. There was a sharp spark of fear that punched through Bucky’s chest at his words. Once they were separated, once Steve was locked in here they could pump Bucky full of sedatives while he was still weak as a kitten and carry him off to anywhere. He wouldn't trust them, not without his paper in hand or enough weapons and strength to make a break for it himself.

Before Bucky realized what was happening, the bed railing in Steve’s hand was ripped from the frame. The aggression that had vanished was back, but not toward Bucky. He spun, facing the suits and growling low, challenge and menace in every line of his posture. Because Bucky had been afraid and Steve had smelled it.

The situation was rapidly losing any chance of remaining a rational conversation and devolved swiftly into an altercation.

“He stays with me,” Steve snarled, making it very obvious it was his decision was final.

“Captain Rogers,” the other suit spoke up, proving to be another woman behind the mask. “ _Please_ , it’s dangerous. You would agree with me if you were yourself. You know it’s wrong to leave such a strong Alpha in rut with an Omega. Especially in a lockdown. Please, I promise he’ll be safe.”

“I was injected with suppressants, yeah?” Bucky asked loudly enough to catch Steve’s and the nurse's attention.

The woman nodded, her hazmat suit bobbing.

“We administered emergency suppressants to both yourself and Agent Romanov as a safety precaution when the rut became apparent, though your hormone levels were very high. That’s when this…started.”

Bucky nodded, flexing his metal hand and re-calibrating it to make the plates move sharply with a clacking sound. He could see every eye in the room turn to watch it. Even Steve’s, though his head turned only enough that he could still keep an eye on the suits against the wall. His growl stopped, however.

“I’ll stay with him, then,” Bucky said, straightening up.

The nurses flinched as one, which was almost an entertaining sight. Now every eye in the room was focused on him, expressing some kind of shock. Steve lowered the railing to his side, no longer menacing the suits, his attention once more focussed completely on Bucky. Like the other two people in the room had ceased to exist, now that he knew Bucky would stay.

“What?” the first nurse demanded as the other declared, “You can’t!”

Steve was silent. He stepped back though, this time out of Bucky’s way. Allowing, despite his overwhelming instincts, for Bucky to defend himself.

“I can, and I will,” Bucky said firmly, taking a step forwards.

Bucky tried not to look at the way Steve’s face morphed. At the happy shine to his eyes and the way his thin t-shirt was stretching obscenely over his chest. They had had him take off the silly tight costume, but this didn’t help. He was so cut it was ridiculous and the t-shirt was thin enough that Bucky could see his nipples through the cloth. He smelled incredibly alluring, so much better than any Alpha Bucky had ever smelled. The sharp, spicy smell of rut was both alarming, but inviting at the same time. 

Steve caught his eye and Bucky bared his teeth at him, half-challenging, half…something. The smile didn’t leave Steve’s eyes, he just took another step back and away. Not quite submitting, he didn’t bare his throat this time, but he gave ground. It made something turn slowly and hotly in Bucky’s chest. 

The female suit sighed heavily.

“I’ll have them prepare to move you both to a mating room.”

“Cheryl!” the other suit gasped, clearly affronted.

Cheryl shook her head.

“If he wants to stay, we can’t stop him, Alice, but they can’t stay here. The mating rooms are as sealed as these, and will be more comfortable for an Alpha in rut. Whatever happens there is out of our hands.”

Alice huffed, but didn’t seem to have an argument to that.

“Fine,” she said primly, “I imagine they’re done with the tent from moving Agent Romanov. Sergeant Barnes, if you’ll please lie down, we can have Captain Rogers wheel you to the room. You _really_ shouldn’t be standing, let alone walking.”

“Why?” Bucky asked, confused.

The question was met with stunned silence, and not the polite kind.

“Because you have a fever of over a hundred degrees,” Alice answered, “And are severely dehydrated because of all the vomiting you did before the cure kicked in. We think you’re suffering from malnutrition and heaven only knows what else as your body is literally restructuring itself. Just… _please_ lie back down.”

“I won’t touch you,” Steve instantly promised. “Just the bed.”

Bucky imagined he’d promise anything right then if it meant keeping Bucky safe, even from himself. And close, Bucky couldn’t forget that it would bring him closer to Steve, close enough to smell, to touch if Bucky wanted. Steve had known that well enough, known Bucky’s fear well enough, he had promised.

Bucky cast a glance over the destroyed room, eyes snagging on the small, folded-up wheelchair in the corner. He tilted his head towards it.

“You can wheel me in that,” he gave in. There was no use fighting them all.

The answer made Steve beam, though Alice merely huffed again. Cheryl sighed, heading for the door. Steve left them alone, walking to the wheelchair. He righted it, then unfolded it. Locking the brakes in place, he motioned for Bucky to sit and then moved away. Letting Bucky sit down alone until the time came to actually be moved.

Steve was ridiculous. He was absolutely, goddamned ridiculous. It didn’t stop that flash of heat swamping Bucky’s chest at how quickly Steve went for the wheelchair, how focused he was on Bucky. A tiny, rebellious part of his mind was crowing in victory now that Steve’s attention was solely on him again.

The room transfer was one of the stranger things Bucky had experienced in life. When the suits opened the door again, they had rigged something to it that passed through to a mobile tent on wheels. Steve finally approached Bucky’s wheelchair, not touching him as promised, and pushing him through the claustrophobic plastic tunnel into the equally claustrophobic plastic tent. He didn’t have to touch Bucky, however, to impress his presence upon him. This close, Bucky was all but drowning in his scent, in his pheromones, and the heat his body was radiating.

More suits disconnected the tunnel, leaving them inside with Cheryl, who began leading the way down the hall. The floor, Bucky realized, was shiny tile, so he suspected the overly-loud ventilation was negatively pressurized so none of their contagion left the mobile tent. Unfortunately, Bucky and Steve couldn’t see where they were going. They had to rely on the nurse, the suits outside, to guide them through the building where the tiny tunnel was once more set up before they were allowed to entire the so-called mating room.

When Steve pushed him inside, Bucky felt like they had entered a high-class hotel room. The large bed dominating the center of the room caught his eye first, the pressed, pristine sheets and pillows looking thick and warm. A small kitchenette was fixed against one wall, a desk against the other. Any eating, it seemed, was expected to be done in bed. Beside the door they entered, which quickly shut behind them with the heavy sound of being sealed shut, was another, open, and leading to a spacious white bathroom.

Immediately, Bucky’s skin began to crawl. 

“Push me into the bathroom,” he demanded. “Then get out. I have… I need to be clean.”

There was a layer of filth caked on his skin. The soot from the fire, the dried sweat, the dirt from the explosions and crawling in the ceiling. Bucky hated being dirty, the distaste stemming from the long periods of time he had been refused basic hygiene niceties such as a shower unless he paid for it. It didn’t escape him that Steve was clean, having washed himself sometime between the quinjet and the altercation in the isolation room. Bucky was downright filthy, and he wanted that shower _fiercely_. God help Steve if he even thought of refusing the request.

“Okay,” was all Steve said, taking the wind right out of him and pushing him straight to the requested location. He left Bucky near the tub, then hesitated. “Do you… I mean…” Flushing, Steve shoved a hand through his hair and then seemingly _fled_ back to the main room. “If you need me, I’m out here.”

The door closed in his wake.

Bucky stared at the closed door, his jaw hanging low, his nose full of Steve’s pheromones, of _rut_ , of imminent sex. When Steve turned to leave, Bucky caught a glimpse of the prominent bulge in his pants, his erection tenting the sweats almost obscenely. And he just left. Turned around and fled the bathroom Bucky was planning to get naked in. As if, instead, Bucky had been pointing a gun at him.

Outside the door, Bucky could hear nothing but silence. At first he thought the door was as sealed as the rest. He tore the hospital gown off, the paper falling away easily. The pants were unsalvageable, so he did his best to wriggle out of them and let them drop where they would while still in the chair. 

Getting up from the chair was harder than he liked to admit, his legs still weak and shaky. After a single step, he had to use his metal hand to catch one of the bars attached to the wall to ensure he didn’t fall into the tub before he had even turned on the water. Sighing, Bucky sat down gratefully inside the tub. The water, when he took up the detachable showerhead, was hot and clean. He directed it onto his head, luxuriating in the feel of the hot water sluicing over him, washing away the accumulated grime.

Then footsteps walked quickly from the bathroom and Bucky realized Steve had been standing by the door, hovering, _listening_. It would have been creepy, except now Bucky could hear him pacing. To the door, to the bed, to the door, to the kitchen, back to the door. More than that, he was _singing_. Soft, under his breath, as if Bucky couldn’t hear.

Or to keep himself from hearing the sounds Bucky was making.

It took until Steve began repeating the song a second time for Bucky to realize he knew the song. The Alpha had a passable voice, but it was jarring to suddenly realize the last time he had heard _The Way You Look Tonight_ was on the wireless before he shipped out. God, so long ago, and there was Steve singing it quietly while he paced back and forth in the outer room.

A love song, of all damned things, from Bucky’s past.

He tried not focus too much on Steve, tried to focus on what he was doing, on the feel of soap on his skin, the pleasure of finally being clean, but Steve was _making noise_. There was a distinctive pattern to the change of his voice that was alternatively loud and muffled. He was tromping and singing, moving in tight circles away from, then toward, the door. 

It was driving Bucky _crazy_.

No matter how Bucky wanted to, he couldn’t _not_ be aware. Steve was in rut, he wanted Bucky, and Bucky was, well, naked. Not to mention weak. Not quite helpless, but he couldn’t stop paying attention to the threat just in the other room, even if he didn’t think Steve actually was a threat.

“Stop that infernal noise!” Bucky snarled, feeling itchy and irritated, the brief pleasure from the bath already dissipating and he wasn’t even finished yet.

The silence from the other side of the door was immediate. Then footsteps crossed to the door, but stopped beside it. A thump signaled Steve leaning against the wall there, close, but not pacing at least.

“I can hear you in there,” Steve said, his voice both tight and agitated, “I’m trying to distract myself from…you know, that you’re…not…clothed.”

Bucky stopped washing and mouthed the word ‘clothed’ to himself. Another thump came from Steve’s wall, softer this time. The sound of Steve’s head hitting the wall?

“And singing is your preferred reaction?” Bucky asked incredulously.

“I hate it, you know?” Steve answered, “Of course you know, you hate it, too. The way it fills your head with a fog so only what it wants are important. Sex, safety, and aggression, that’s all I get. Focusing on almost anything else is like trying to hold water in a sieve. Singing, I can do that.”

“Well, I can’t,” Bucky grumped, pouring out a huge handful of shampoo and starting to rub it into his hair.

“Can’t sing? Or can’t distract yourself? Because I’ve never seen anyone as in control as you were when you were in heat. How do you even do that? I can’t hold on to it. Me. Can’t hold on to me.”

Bucky stopped lathering his hair.

“Steve,” Bucky said slowly. “You read my medical files. Without suppressants, I’m in heat every three weeks. If I take them, I’m still very close. I got used to it. How often is it for you?” 

Realizing his head had a full lather, Bucky slid down the ceramic tub and dipped his head below water. Rubbing hard at his scalp, he groaned, and closed his eyes, barely able to hear Steve through the water as he answered.

“Never went into rut with Pegs,” Steve answered easily, “She was always on suppressants; you know, Omega in the war and all. Tony once, and that was the most uncomfortable… Anyway. Twice before the ice? So…that makes this the fourth time. I _hate_ it.”

Bucky straightened out slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on the very shiny faucet in front of him. Steve, the biggest, arguably the most dangerous Alpha he had ever met, was practically a _virgin_. Maybe not in the technical sense, but he had such little experience for someone so appealing. Surely Omegas and Betas both threw themselves at him as potential mates?

“Have you ever spent any of your ruts with anybody?” Bucky asked quietly, surprisingly dejected by the thought of Steve only knowing the touch of his own hand when his body would crave another’s. As much as Bucky hated how they were used against him, his heats were pleasant. It felt good being touched, and the orgasms were mind-blowing. 

“Nah,” Steve said casually, dismissively. “With Pegs, maybe I would have, but no one before that. No one looked twice at me before that, then after… Pepper’s good with Tony. Not gonna take that away from them, and there’s no one else.”

Bucky started lathering again, his hands moving mechanically over his scalp as he mulled that answer through. One wash hadn’t been enough. His hair was still oily, not to mention coated with other, far worse substances.

“Why not hire someone? I remember it hurt at the beginning, going through the heats alone,” Bucky said before he fully realised what he was sharing.

There was silence, Steve, though in the grip of the rut, was still far too perceptive. Belligerently, Bucky dunked under the water again, staying there for a count of five before he resurfaced again. Grunting, he pushed hair and water from his face.

“I never wanted to,” Steve said and he must have been listening to time his answer to when Bucky could hear. “For the first time, I was…waiting for the right partner. Isn’t that what you wanted? Back…before?”

Bucky pulled the plug out of the tub, watching the dirty water start down the drain. Not nearly clean, he opened the faucet to let in new water. He couldn't get enough of it, how hot it was, how clean. 

“I…no, not really,” Bucky admitted finally. “Before I presented, I loved women, loved the chase, the romance. Then I was captured, and went into my first heat when I presented. What I remember most, is pain and how pleased the doctors were. Eventually, they gave me my first Alpha and I was so grateful for that, you have no idea. So I don’t really get it, waiting for someone special or specific.”

Leaning back, Bucky lay in the shallow water, just relaxing, enjoying the sound of it, the warmth as it slowly filled the tub. He sighed contently, letting his muscles relax for the first time in days, maybe even years. It wasn’t like he got baths at the Raft.

“I guess…” Steve said slowly, “that’s what I think of when I think of romance.” He chuckled dryly. “I hear it’s really old fashioned these days.”

Bucky let out a startled bark of laughter.

“I’m probably the worst person to ask about that,” Bucky was still chuckling.

“Apparently, if you were modern before the twenty-first century,” Steve snickered. “I thought it was rumors, you know? You and skirt chas - Shit, sorry.”

Another thump. Definitely Steve hitting his head on the wall, then. The sound was followed by something sliding down the wall, then another, softer thud on the floor. Bucky guessed Steve had sat down.

“I have no idea if I had been attracted to men,” Bucky said, ignoring Steve’s comment and sweeping the moment of awkwardness under the rug, “before I presented. I must have been, I guess. The times didn’t exactly encourage those kinds of behaviors back then anyway.”

“The times didn’t encourage pre-bonding sex either,” Steve laughed, “I’d honestly never heard of anyone having sex before presenting. That’s,” Steve stopped and quickly started over. “Kinda believed all that propaganda that said sexual maturity came when you presented, since it did for me, but apparently that’s only Alphas.”

“Or just you,” Bucky said, stretching his feet in the warm water and curling his toes with a pleased little moan. It was so good to be out of his combat boots finally. “All the other Alphas I met thought only of sex, before or after presenting.”

Steve’s voice was subdued as he said, “I’d say you didn’t meet enough then, but I actually think you met too many.”

Before he remembered Steve couldn’t see him, Bucky shrugged.

“You’re different,” Bucky admitted out loud. “You still want sex, but you are different.” 

There was an edge of teasing to his voice now. Bucky wasn’t as angry that Steve was attracted to him, wanting him, than he expected to be. Instead it felt nice, good that Steve was thinking about him, scenting him, focusing on him. Not on Stark, or Romanova, or some woman named Peggy. Just Bucky.

“You gonna kill me for wanting you when you get outta there?” Steve asked, before blurting out, “Are you even aware of the sounds you’re making?” 

Bucky stopped moving, stilling in the water and blinked, trying to remember if he had made any sound at all besides splashing and came up blank.

“If I wanted to kill you for that, I had plenty of opportunity in that fucking hellhole of a base you dragged us all to,” Bucky answered, redirecting the conversation. “Why did we even go there since you planned to have it blown up from the very beginning?”

The laugh Steve let out was surprisingly pleasant to listen to and Bucky scowled.

“I knew you didn’t read your contract,” Steve said, still chuckling. “You got your freedom if you helped the Avengers deal with Clarkson. You did that. The rest of it? The Council was sending in that bomb in case we failed, in case we died in there because they couldn’t let Clarkson’s disease spread. The mission was necessary, there could have been survivors, but that place needed to come down, too. When we killed Clarkson, we got everything we wanted.”

“The Council didn’t get what they wanted,” Bucky said slowly, swirling his metal hand through the water. As he lifted it out of it, the plates started shivering violently, spraying water droplets everywhere. “What are the chances they will keep true to the contract?” 

Steve shifted sharply against the wall.

“They will,” Steve said firmly.

Bucky snorted, banding his head lightly against the tiled wall. “Yeah, right.”

“Bucky, please, believe me,” Steve pressed, the words sickeningly sincere. The problem with the Alpha was, in Bucky’s opinion, that he always sounded honest and true, even as he was spouting unbelievable rubbish. “I’ll make sure they do.” 

Bucky raised his head, staring at the door.

“And what, they’ll sign off on my papers just on your say-so?” Bucky pressed.

“At this point they can’t afford not to,” Steve said slowly.

“You think they’ll cave just because you threaten them with revealing some dirt that can’t be traced directly to them?” Bucky needled, unwilling to hope, to believe.

Leaning back in the tub, Bucky stared at the ceiling, waiting for what he already knew would be more of Steve’s assurances. When they came, he let his hands fall into the water with a loud splash. Steve was so sure he could take on the powers-that-be and win. That they couldn’t tear him down like they had so many other idealists. Worst of all, Bucky thought that maybe he could, and hope was the one thing that would always break you in the end.

“Maybe, but if not, I have a team, a very recognisable public persona, and Stark Industries’ legal backing. Very few people can stand against those combined.”

Bucky took a slow breath and kept it in for a count of four before letting it out.

“So what,” he said slowly, both testing the waters and throwing Steve’s reassurances back in his face. “I go back to the Raft, or some other dark hole to sit and wait for these elusive papers to be delivered to me?”

“Bucky…”

“All you are telling me, Steve, is that I risked my life and sanity for nothing. 

“No!” Steve shouted from the other room. “That’s why… That’s why you can’t leave. I won’t let them take you. Not until it’s done.”

“You can’t keep me here forever,” Bucky growled, chest feeling tight, the anger he’d almost forgot surging back in a tidal wave.

“Not forever,” he quickly assured, “Just until we can be sure they can’t lock you up again.”

Bucky slashed his hand through the water, sending a splash to the end of the tub and washing back.

“And how do you suggest we do that?” he demanded. “I stay attached at your hip? Go with you to all your debriefings, all your press releases? See all your high security passwords while you ferry me around SHIELD buildings?”

“If that’s what we have to do,” Steve said steadily.

“Trap me, so I can never leave?”

No sooner were the words out of his mouth when he heard a rumbling, low growl, so deep it vibrated right through his bones, and the sound of flesh hitting the door. The flimsy barrier rattled in its frame.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said immediately after, rushing to reassure him. “I didn't mean… Just don't, don’t say those words yet.” 

There was a deep timbre to Steve’s voice that resonated with Bucky. Immediately, he felt like a heel for implying he would leave when he promised he would… Bucky stopped his train of thought. There was something strange about it, something familiar, but alien at the same time.

“Sorry!” Steve shouted, the timbre replaced with a whine, “Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“Are you using your voice on me?” Bucky asked calmly, already leaning halfway out of the tub as if he could reach Steve through the door and rip his spinal cord out vertebra by vertebra.

“Uh,” Steve said tentatively, “No?”

“No?” Bucky asked waspishly, staring daggers at the door, predicting Steve’s position by the sound of his voice, the better to maim him. “You don’t sound all that sure.”

Another whine, this one long and plaintive.

“I’m sorry, please don’t leave,” Steve pleaded. “We can’t go anywhere, really, not until isolation is over. They don’t want us to get anyone sick and you’re not… You’re not _safe_...”

Bucky listened to him, the pleading, and had the unpleasant horror of realising he was a complete idiot. The timbre of Steve’s voice as it had suddenly become so deep, so appealing, had been familiar. He’d already heard it. In the base, when Steve had asked him to lead them to the wall that hid the escape route. He had heard it. Steve’s _Alpha voice_.

“You used your voice on me,” Bucky said, dazed with the realisation, not even knowing how to feel. “At the base. That was how you got me to lower my guard, to lead you.”

“I told you,” Steve groaned, “I told you on the plane, I had to. I couldn’t leave you behind. I couldn’t let you die.”

Bucky opened his mouth to tell Steve he was going to skin him, kill him, make him suffer. A moment later, his lips closed on empty air. He could say those things, but they wouldn’t be true. In this hot bath, free of grime and his mind clean of any outside influences, Bucky didn’t wish he had stayed in that base. He didn’t want to die any more. Back then, it had seemed the only good decision he could make, stay and keep the hounds inside the base until the bombs hit. Now, cured and on the mend, his view on life was completely different. 

Hindsight was a fucking bitch.

“I know you hate me for it,” Steve murmured, defeated, “but I had to if there was a chance we could all survive. Maybe I should doubt my choices more, but I don’t. I try to think everything through, I do, and this one… There was a chance, and you were just gonna die before you were even free again.”

“It’s a good thing you’re pretty,” Bucky muttered to himself, only realising that Steve had heard when he sputtered in surprise.

“I… You think, I’m, uh… Thanks?”

Bucky sighed, exhaling a long, hum of satisfaction as the hot water continued to work its magic on his muscles. He banged the back of his head gently on the edge of the tub, feeling defeated.

“You don’t exactly sound mad at me, like I expected,” Steve said hesitantly.

“Gee, maybe that’s cause I’m not mad?” Bucky snarked at the ceiling, as white as the rest of the bathroom.

“Um,” Steve hesitated again, “Look, I’m just gonna say, you confuse the hell out of me, and I’m sorry I had to manipulate you like that. Er, that I felt I needed to. I didn’t want to.”

Bucky closed his eyes and considered, for a moment, just drowning himself. Surely it would be easier than this conversation. 

“I didn’t really want to die,” Bucky offered, “or I don’t want to die anymore, now that the cure’s worked.” This time, Bucky hesitated. “No Alpha has ever apologised to me so much.” Bucky splashed some water over his face and admitted quietly, “I do appreciate it. Just so you know. I do.”

The silence outside the bathroom door went on for so long, Bucky thought maybe Steve had fallen asleep. It was highly unlikely, but so was the quiet. From the moment he’d woken, Steve had been nothing but loud and obnoxious. 

“Clothes,” Bucky said loudly, pulling the plug on the bath again.

“What?” Steve asked, sounding startled.

Bucky sighed.

“I need clothes. You don’t think I can put on what I was wearing, do you?”

“You could wear nothing,” Steve offered, before quickly adding, “Kidding. It’s a joke. Mostly a joke.”

“I could always skin you and wear that for an apron I guess,” Bucky mused idly.

“See?” Steve said, having stood and shuffled about the outer room. “Jokes. Ha, yeah; don’t skin me.”

Bucky smirked in spite of himself, and pulled himself out of the tub to sit on the edge. In the mirror, he assessed how well he looked, if he really was healthy again. His skin was pink from the heat, and very clean. Looking down, he saw his toes were pruned, and he wiggled them, happy to just be here, alive and warm. 

Pulling the nearest towel to him, he dropped it over his lap as he reached for the second towel on the small table beside the tub, dropping that one over his head. It covered his wet, loose hair that was still dripping water onto his shoulders, rivulets of it sliding down his chest. His arm shivered violently again, the plates vibrating as they shook out the moisture that had gotten trapped in the grooves. He felt too lazy to do anything but sit there, cooling down slowly.

A single rap sounded against the door and Steve slipped inside, a bundle of cloth over one arm. When he saw Bucky sitting at the edge of the tub, his eyes went wide and round, the blue quickly eclipsed by his pupils. He hesitated, then approached carefully, one step at a time, what looked like sweats held out in his hand. Bucky was all the more grateful for his towel as Steve’s eyes didn’t stay on Bucky’s face, they traveled all over, taking in all the skin that was on display.

Bucky went still, watching Steve’s throat bob as he swallowed hard. Slowly, deliberately he shifted his chin up, offering his throat to anyone brave enough to try and take it. Steve never fell for it. He looked, he watched, he licked his lips, but he had always understood the invitation for the threat it was. 

Shifting, Bucky spread his thighs a little further, the towel on his lap shifted precariously, and he stared Steve straight in the eye. Steve didn’t meet his gaze, eyes wide as he stared at the cloth that kept Bucky decent. Yet he stopped, just barely within reach, and stretched his arm out before him, as still as Bucky. Tension raced through his muscles, as visible through his shirt as if he wasn’t wearing one. The prominent bulge in his pants twitched, a wet spot having formed sometime after Bucky had been left alone in the bath. The scent he had brought in with him intensified, filling the small steamy room, and making Bucky’s chest tight. 

Not moving, not reaching for the towel, Bucky waited for Steve to break. Because he had to. Nobody could keep calm in a situation like this. Not with the hormones flooding Steve’s system, not when he so clearly wanted Bucky, and Bucky was so temptingly on display. An offering, if Steve was stupid enough to take it. Bucky flexed, but still didn’t reach for the sweats, watching, waiting.

Surely, Steve would prove to be like every other Alpha.

The hand holding the sweats trembled, but Steve didn’t move from where he stood. Like his feet were glued to the tile. His eyes caressed Bucky’s skin, drinking him in, leaving fire in their wake. Focused completely on Bucky’s body, his throat, the spread of his legs and the dips of his muscles.

It was too much. 

Abruptly, Steve’s focus was too much. His gaze was nearly a physical touch and Bucky couldn’t stand this tense standoff between them any more. He bared his teeth at Steve, growling.

“Clothes,” Bucky snapped, his voice a whip crack echoing in the bathroom.

The effect was instantaneous. Somehow, Steve’s eyes widened further and he took a hasty step backward. Then the command seemed to register and he darted to the side, setting the sweats on the edge of the tub where they wouldn’t get damp, but were still within Bucky’s reach. 

“I won’t touch you,” Steve promised. Pleaded? Bucky wasn’t sure, but Steve was already backing up, not turning this time, but fleeing all the same. Not breaking, not taking Bucky’s bait.

The door clicked closed in his wake, leaving only Steve’s scent behind.

Bucky stared at the closed door, head spinning dizzily with different emotions. The want, the alarming way his body had heated up under Steve’s attention, the anger, the hate, the softer feelings that kept sneaking up on him, the way his anger sometimes failed to show when he expected it to when Steve was near. It was too much. Steve was too much.

Cursing quietly, Bucky dragged the sweatpants over his wet legs with sharp, jerky motions. It turned out there was a shirt as well, beneath the sweats, and he reached for the shirt and froze. His flesh hand closed over the cotton, but he made no motion to pull it on.

The situation was ridiculous. Bucky wanted sex; specifically, sex with Steve. Steve wanted sex with him, desperately. Bucky wasn’t in heat. It would be his own choice, his own control. The suppressants meant they wouldn’t bond. There was no need to fight this as hard as he was. No need not to give in to it.

“Fuck it!” Bucky swore loudly, throwing the shirt to the floor. The towel about his head followed. He could feel the cold droplets of water drip down the overheated skin of his chest as he yanked the door open and stalked, barefoot, out into the room. The curse, or his walk, startled Steve who stood halfway between the bathroom and the bed.

“Bucky...?” Steve began, but fell silent after one look at Bucky’s face.

Bucky smiled, a crooked little smirk full of challenge and promise kept bearing down on Steve.

Hilariously, Steve continued backing away, matching him step for step. His hands were turned, palms outward, at his sides, as if showing he was unarmed. Bucky stared at the slope of his neck, at the obscene stretch of the thin t-shirt over his chest, and the way the sweatpants barely held onto his slim hips. The man was stunningly attractive, his body was perfect, and Bucky wanted that body over him.

“What are you doing?” Steve gasped, “Bucky, I won’t…”

Bucky bared his teeth again at Steve, challenging and Steve darted from the challenge once more. The instinct to return it, though, was clear as he clenched his teeth, his muscles tense. But he didn’t attack, didn’t force his dominance on Bucky. Not even now, when he felt threatened. His quick movement pressed him against the bed and he gasped, a short, startled exhalation as his calves hit the edge of the mattress. It was clear how muddled Steve’s mind was as he found the obstruction completely unexpected, falling with a huff onto the mattress.

Without breaking his stride, Bucky reached the bed and swung his leg over Steve’s hips to straddle him, quick and sure. Bucky wasn’t shy about resting his weight on Steve’s hips, his ass pressing into Steve’s hard cock. The enhanced superhero could take his weight, had stared at him nearly naked; there was no point in being shy now.

Steve’s jaw tensed, turning his face away, as his eyes fixed on the headboard. His hands, resting on the bedcovers, were clenched into fists. Not touching, holding himself back, when Bucky was all but assaulting him.

“Buck, need you to get off,” Steve requested, voice strangled and tight.

“No,” Bucky said shifting on top of Steve’s cock and then bending over, his wet hair falling forward so cold droplets of water stained Steve’s white shirt.

Though his eyes scrunched closed, Steve still didn’t budge.

“I know you don’t want this. I’m trying not to… But I can’t if you…”

“As I said before, it’s good you’re pretty, cause you sure as hell aren't the sharpest knife in the drawer,” Bucky murmured, bending down to bite at Steve’s jaw. He felt the man tense under him as if hit by a thunderbolt. His hands snapped to grip Bucky’s hips, leaving bruises beneath his fingertips. His head fell back, throat bared as he groaned, eyes still closed, but no longer clenched tight.

“Tell me you want it,” Steve demanded, begged - it was starting to sound the same to Bucky.

“I let you kiss me,” Bucky answered. “Do you know when the last time was I let an Alpha kiss me?”

Steve shook his head, not seeming to realize it was a rhetorical question.

“Never,” Bucky answered, biting again at Steve’s jaw, leaving little red teeth imprints that faded as he looked at them. “They had me muzzled during my heats, so that I couldn’t make the bonding bite myself.”

The hands on Bucky’s hips released, but didn’t leave Bucky’s skin as they moved to his jaw. Careful, as if Bucky might break - an absurd notion, if Bucky had ever heard one - they pulled until he was meeting Steve’s gaze. The blue eyes were soft, even when filled with lust, because Steve was still ridiculous.

“I’m not in heat,” Bucky assured, “I’m in full possession of my faculties now. I want you. You want me. If you swear not to bite, we can do this safely.” 

Now that he was in contact with Steve, Bucky was so much more on board with this plan. With the taste of Steve’s skin on his tongue, the scent of him in his nose, the heat of his touch on his skin, how could he say no? Why would he say no? He looked down at the stretch of pure muscle offered to him and all but salivated.

Steve’s hand slipped through Bucky’s hair, somehow hesitating, though he wasn’t holding back.

“What else?” Steve prompted. “Besides biting. Tell me what I can’t do. I won’t do anything you don’t want. I’ll do anything you want.”

Shifting so that he sat more firmly on Steve’s cock, already so damn big, Bucky wondered if his knot was already showing.

“I really want to fuck you,” Bucky murmured bending down close to Steve’s ear, making his voice low, making the words vibrate right over Steve’s skin.

Shivering, Steve nodded, the hand not in Bucky’s hair skimming down his throat so his palm lay against his collarbone. It wasn’t the reaction Bucky expected. Alphas weren't supposed to allow it, especially not from an Omega. Bucky had never understood why, but it was taboo to submit to someone they were supposed to consider weaker.

“Might be better,” Steve agreed, breathless. “You’re not in heat so knotting will be difficult, I mean, if that’s what you want me to do.”

The thing was, Bucky enjoyed the sex itself, being filled, stretched beyond even his limits. He just hated what came after. With Steve, he could control the outcome, be safe. Steve was so ridiculously honorable, Bucky didn't need to worry about unwanted bonds from him. They would do only what Bucky wanted, he was sure of that, and Bucky did not want to be bitten and, thus, bonded. 

Pulling himself into a sitting position, bracing both his palms over Steve’s warm wide chest, Bucky ground his ass against Steve’s erection, enjoying the hitched gasp of Steve’s breathing as he did.

“You telling me, you can’t do both? Thought you were some kind of super-soldier,” Bucky taunted, “Where’s that stamina?”

Steve shuddered, grabbing at Bucky’s hips again. Licking his lips, he rolled his hips, grinding them together again. It was the first non-passive thing he had done since Bucky’d pinned him to the bed.

“Well,” Steve said, infuriating Bucky because he could still think, “thing is, there’s a lot of it. My knot isn’t going to go down after the first time, or the second. Once we start,” Steve rolled their hips again, pressing against Bucky’s ass, “we gotta finish. Not a change-your-mind situation.”

Bucky opened his mouth, but couldn't actually say anything, his voice taken by the sudden burst of pure lust unfurling in his belly. Steve was his equal in everything, in power and stamina and strength. Nobody ever could keep up with him, nobody could mate him until he had had enough, was truly sated. Bucky bet Steve would, could make Bucky’s mind white out from pleasure.

“Do I look,” Bucky finally managed, breathless, “like someone who changes his mind a lot?”

The smile Steve gave him was full of teeth, but it wasn’t a challenge. It was wild and wicked, promising Bucky the night of his life. If he wanted it, if _he_ would take that bait.

“With you?” Steve asked. “I ain’t assuming if I don’t hafta.”

Bucky grinned, toothy and wide.

“Good,” he praised. “Guess you’ll have to take a chance then.”

Steve laughed, as wild and pleased as his smile.

“Guess we both will.”

Instead of answering out loud, Bucky leaned down to kiss Steve, all teeth and heat and _want_. Steve met him halfway, and finally Bucky found out how he would have reacted, had Clarkson not pulled him away. It was like kissing fire, and it seared straight down Bucky’s spine. He released a small breathless moan as Steve growled into the kiss, the sound so low it vibrated right through Bucky’s chest, sending a bolt of heat to his cock. There was challenge in Steve’s growl, power, but not domination, and Bucky couldn’t get enough.


	18. Chapter 18

Steve flexed his hands around Bucky’s hips, feeling how solid they felt beneath his fingers. It was sinking in now, that he could touch, that Bucky had _said_ he could touch. This was allowed. No, even better, it was _wanted_. And god, did Steve want to touch, to lick, to kiss every inch of Bucky’s skin. 

Bucky was like no other person Steve could have taken to bed. Not just in personality, but in physical modifications. He was strong enough to withstand whatever Steve might dish out; there was no fear of injuring him, of breaking bones if he held on to tight. No fear of leaving bruises, because they would heal as fast as they formed. It send a thrill of excitement through Steve, the possibilities unfurling in his brain. 

Slipping his fingers higher, he brushed the skin just above Bucky’s waistband, surprised by how soft the skin actually felt. He gripped harder, flipped them over, and Bucky let him. That hard body tensed, but only for a moment. Then it relaxed again, working with Steve instead of against him. 

With Bucky on his back, Steve pressed into the vee of his thighs. 

“Yeah,” Bucky said, his tone dropping lower, wisps of wet hair clinging to his cheeks and forehead. “You want this.”

Steve snorted, because what could he say? That, yes, his cock had been hard for so long now, that it was all he could do to think of anything other than Bucky’s skin, his smell, and warmth. Just being close, having that powerful body in his reach was daunting. Knowing he could touch, that he'd get to do more than even that, was nearly impossible to believe.

Leaning down to kiss Bucky again, Steve was happily surprised when he tilted his head back to accommodate him. It was humbling, the way Bucky’s lips parted sweetly, allowing Steve’s tongue inside. Then it wasn’t sweet at all as he sucked at it, making Steve groan. Bucky’s hands slid down from where they’d locked on Steve’s shoulders, working under his shirt, making Steve shiver as chill metal caressed his skin. The touch was firm and unexpected with its lack of hesitation. 

Whatever Steve had expected, it wasn’t this easy physicality. 

Shifting, Steve slowly pressed their bodies together from ankle to hip, waist to shoulder. His elbows held him up, granting the freedom to bracket Bucky’s face with his hands and kiss him deeper, nip at his soft, chapped lips. Fitting his hips between Bucky’s thighs, Steve was nearly dizzy with anticipation as he felt the hard muscles give. He settled in slowly, Bucky letting him spread his legs only when he was ready, until Steve’s cock pressed against Bucky’s firm stomach, trapping it between them, with only the thin sweat pants between. 

Steve moaned, the sound swiftly shaping into a growl, which shuddered through his chest. When he opened his eyes again, he was met with Bucky’s, wide and dark and more than a little shocked. Not displeased, however. 

Following his instincts, Steve growled again. Bucky let out a small sound, a mix of an exhalation, a moan, and a quiet whine. It sent a wave of heat shooting through Steve, and he pressed harder into the kiss, biting at Bucky’s lips and exalting in the feeling of the Omega kissing him back, panting into his mouth. Bucky gave as good as he got, his own teeth nipping, his fingers scratching along Steve’s spine and tugging at his hair.

“Do that again,” Bucky said into Steve mouth, not even bothering to break the kiss.  
Happy to oblige, Steve ground his cock into Bucky again, and growled deeper, louder and more fiercely than before. Bucky made that half-strangled sound, and hooked one leg over Steve’s hip, pulling him down so that Steve could feel every muscle of Bucky’s body through his own shirt. The Omega’s muscles were hard and hot, and Steve needed them against his own skin. In agreement with with the unspoken desire, Bucky grabbed fistfulls of Steve’s shirt and ripped, tearing the cotton so it sagged around Steve’s shoulders. 

“Bucky...” Steve groaned as Bucky jerked at the remnants until Steve gathered enough wits about himself to shake it off.

Even before the the sad shirt remains had fluttered to the floor, Bucky flattened his palms over the expanse of Steve’s chest. The contrasting hot and cold of his palms sent goosebumps racing over Steve’s skin, and he shivered, but sat back, letting Bucky look or touch, or anything he wanted.

“Jesus,” Bucky whispered as he slowly dragged his hands over the flat plane of Steve’s chest, “your body… It’s goddamn perfect...”

As Bucky trailed off, his hands detoured to curl beneath Steve’s pectorals, framing the muscles as he stared. Steve flushed from the top of his head to the soles of his feet, a wave of warmth suffusing his skin. The way Bucky was staring at him felt more obscene than any lewd comment he’d ever heard on the street, or at the docks, or in Tony’s presence.

Dragging his hands lower over the twitching muscles of Steve’s belly, Bucky didn’t stop until both palms pressed against the prominent bulge in Steve’s pants. Steve swayed forward, moaning, unable to stop his hips thrusting into the touch. His cock was heavy and thick with blood, incredibly sensitive, and oozing enough precome to leave him feeling wet. Bucky’s hands felt spectacular; _anything_ touching him felt phenomenal, but especially his heat.

“Buck, please,” Steve gasped, not sure he’d be able to stand teasing or foreplay for long.

Bucky smirked, full lips turning up without malice or mockery. The grey eyes, normally looking like steel, were soft and dark, more clouds than metal. Steve’s own eyes were drawn to his powerful neck, the muscles flexing to keep Bucky’s head lifted. Letting his eyes drift lower - because he could, it was allowed - he swallowed hard. The stretch of Bucky’s chest was magnificent. Wide, powerful muscles covered a compact ribcage. Every muscle was sharply defined, shifting with the rapid rise and fall of his chest. The cruel scarring about the metal shoulder socket was jarring, but he looked, not shying from the evidence of what had been done to the Omega. 

The pain had made Bucky who he was.

Slowly, Steve lifted his hand to touch the scars, to soothe, or feel, or… Steve didn’t quite know. Bucky froze with Steve’s fingers still off his skin, his body as still as stone. As if Steve had flicked a switch somewhere, turning Bucky off. Steve opened his mouth to ask if he was all right, but those grey eyes were still on his, still mild. Bucky wasn't telling him no. He was allowing this intimacy even though he wasn’t completely comfortable. More than the earlier kiss, Steve was humbled by the trust he was being shown.

Keeping every movement slow, predictable, Steve flattened his hand over where metal met flesh. The plates on his chest were shockingly warm under his hand, nearly as warm as Bucky’s skin, which differed from those on his hand. When he focused, he could feel a faint thrumming through the plates themselves, as if the arm had a life of its own. Drawing his hand down, over flesh more than metal, Steve found the scarring was softer than he expected, the skin only slightly firmer and drier, but still supple and warm. 

Pushed by instincts he didn't completely understand, Steve bent to press a kiss to the metal. The plates had no taste, not even the coppery metallic one would get from licking keys. The texture, when he dragged his lips over the wide plate covering part of Bucky’s chest, was smooth, with sharp edges. When Bucky didn’t protest, he flattened his tongue, licking a wider stripe along the hard surface.

Bucky sucked in a shuddering breath, letting out a barely audible, “Oh.”

Growling quietly, Steve continued to lick, his tongue travelling from metal, to scarring, to Bucky’s small, brown nipple. A surprised exhalation left Bucky as Steve’s tongue swirled over the peaked bud, Bucky’s hands tightening on Steve’s body. He could feel how uneven Bucky’s breathing was, the leg over Steve’s hip locking him in place, the muscles hard and unyielding as they pressed against his thigh. 

Bucky’s muscles tensed and released almost rhythmically beneath him. Steve lost himself in it, in the touch, the taste, the heat and smell of Bucky’s skin. He smelled spicy and sharp, mouth-wateringly good. That scent had clung to him relentlessly in the Three Sisters, pulling at him, demanding his attention. Steve had wanted to touch Bucky for so long, and now he could. Could just spread his weight over the man, climb on top of him, press him into the mattress and feast on all that skin and muscle. 

So he did, licking, tasting, touching, every inch of the Omega that he could reach. He lost himself in him, and only returned to awareness as he realised Bucky’s hands were no longer clutching, but were purposefully pushing at the waistband of his sweats so that he could get to Steve’s ass. Though he missed the contact and friction against his cock, Steve lifted his hips so that Bucky could push the fabric down.

As Steve returned to his feast, Bucky’s hands stayed at his ass. The first caress of questing fingers between his cheeks was a shock, even though he expected them. His muscles flexed, trapping Bucky’s fingers for a moment, and his breath caught in his throat. Steve wasn't supposed to want this, Bucky’s fingers inside him, hard and rough, carefully stretching him for Bucky’s cock. Steve didn’t care. He wanted it, he’d always wanted it, from the moment he’d heard how Omegas took it. 

Now, Bucky’s hands on his ass had Steve thinking of the Omega pressing him into the sheets, covering his body, and pressing his cock inside him. It was such a rush, imagining the way Bucky’s muscles would tense and bunch, holding Steve down. Picturing how his body would be covered in sweat as he worked to fuck Steve the way he’d secretly wanted it since he’d presented. The thought of how Bucky would smell, all sharp desire and sweet Omega pheromones...

Everyone said it was wrong, even in today’s supposedly enlightened age, but by god did Steve want it. He felt greedy and shameless in how much he wanted it right now.

Bucky pressed the tips of his flesh fingers hard against Steve’s hole, but not hard enough to push in. 

“I want to get inside you,” Bucky said huskily, his voice so low it vibrated right through Steve’s chest. 

Raising his head from sucking Bucky’s nipple, Steve met grey eyes no longer soft and gentle. Bucky’s eyes were like polished steel, bright and unreadable, and his lips were swollen from kissing, and there was a faint blush across his cheeks. He was beautiful.

And he was going to fuck Steve into the bed. 

Breathing hard and fast, Steve nodded, hoping he didn’t appear too eager. He probably did, emotions always easy to read for people like Bucky. People who took the time to notice, to find his tells. And it wasn’t like Steve was good at hiding them.

If Bucky didn’t like what he saw, he didn’t show it. Using only his legs, he flipped them over, muscles flexing and bunching under the skin, manhandling Steve in ways only Thor had been previously capable. Steve went breathless, partly from landing on his back, but mostly from the way Bucky looked then, eyes dark and guarded, though his mouth betrayed him. It was very soft, lips parted, and his pink tongue flicked out to moisten chapped lips.

Bucky’s metal fingers curled into the waistband of Steve’s pants, pulling them down. Not wanting to make Bucky do all the work, Steve raised his hips to make it easier, but couldn’t help a small whimper as his cock was exposed to the room’s cool air. The whimper shifted into a growl as Bucky’s eyes fixed on it, satisfaction swelling in Steve’s chest. He could practically feel Bucky’s gaze, how it caressed his swollen length, his balls, the slight bulge in the middle of his shaft that indicated a forming knot, biology only Alphas possessed. 

Just looking turned out not to be enough, as Bucky yanked Steve’s sweats off completely then bent over to close his hand about Steve’s cock. Giving it a few good pulls, he left Steve gasping, groaning like someone was almost hurting him, revelling in those strong, calloused fingers on his rigid length. It was so different from when he touched himself; though Bucky’s touch was just as firm and sure, jerking him roughly for several brain-melting seconds.

As abruptly as he touched Steve, Bucky stopped, making him whimper. When he looked up, Steve found Bucky sliding out of the bed completely to stand up and reach for his own waistband, planning to strip. Steve scrambled to prop himself up on his elbows to watch. There was no doubt in his mind, this would be a screaming-hot vision. Seeing Bucky in barely a towel had nearly melted Steve into the floor, seeing him actually naked?

“I could help with that,” Steve suggested, motioning vaguely towards the single item of clothing Bucky had on.

Bucky just smirked at him, one corner of his lips pulling up, as both his eyebrows lifted suggestively. Steve hadn’t been aware of how expressive the Omega’s face could be. The look was all the more charming for it.

“Nah,” Bucky denied, flashing another grin. “You just stay there and think of me getting my cock inside you soon.”

“Kinda already am,” Steve admitted, as Bucky pushed the sweats down a few inches, enough to reveal the beginning of a dark trail of hair and beautifully defined abdominal muscles. The sight made his throat tight, his heart race, and his fingers itch. It was an effort of will not to surge forward and put his hands on Bucky again.

“I really want to touch you,” Steve said, his voice raspy and dry, “Need to.”

Bucky didn’t answer, his fingers sliding under the elastic of his SHIELD issue sweats and pushing them down seemingly as slowly as was humanly possible. Licking his lips, Steve’s eyes were drawn to every millimeter of skin as it was revealed. His breath dragged harshly from his throat, and all he wanted was to touch, to taste, to know Bucky was his.

“Soon,” Bucky promised as he pushed the sweats from his hips, finally revealing his cock. 

Steve sucked in a breath at the sight, his mouth somehow watering and dry as he watched Bucky’s cock jump up to brush his stomach. It was the first hard cock he’d seen that wasn’t his own, and it was at once similar and alien. It curved ever-so-slightly towards Bucky’s stomach and a patch of short, dark hair surrounded the base. Steve’s eyes flickered lower, to his heavy thighs roped with muscle, the skin scattered with scars. It was an even better sight than he’d imagined, a display of strength and power, and _god_ Steve wanted him.

It was another thing Steve had been taught that he didn’t want. He’d never liked the dainty, delicate Omegas. He liked them strong, feisty; Peggy was sure proof of that, Tony another. Yet, Steve hadn’t known he could like them volatile and angry and so damned dangerous. The threat contained in Bucky’s body was nothing like any Omega he’d ever met, and it was pushing all of Steve’s buttons. 

Naked as the day he was born, unselfconscious and unashamed, Bucky looked the room over before focusing on the nightstand. Steve blushed harder; he knew what was in the drawers. While Bucky was in the bath, he’d searched them to try and keep his mind off that temptation. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. This was a Mating Room, and some Omegas had trouble with the self-lubrication. Not to mention Betas had none at all, if paired with a male Alpha who, for some reason needed medical attention when in rut. Steve had grown up thinking he would be that Alpha, if he ever found an Omega or Beta who would have him. So he knew the medics had provided medical-grade lubricant in quite _large_ bottles. 

Bucky hummed in satisfaction as he found one such bottle, and Steve’s cock twitched at the sound. Steve’s eyes met Bucky’s again as the Omega all but prowled back towards the bed, his cock bobbing with every step. Once at the edge, Bucky placed one knee between Steve’s feet, then the other, and started crawling up the bed. Steve swallowed and fell back to the mattress as Bucky moved higher, over Steve, forcing his legs obscenely wide.

“I’m going to put my finger in you,” Bucky said in a low growl, stretching out on top of Steve, his still-damp, flushed body pressing Steve down. “Stretch you,” Bucky breathed, warm against Steve’s lips, “so that I can fit my cock inside.”

Steve groaned, surging up to kiss Bucky, while simultaneously grabbing his shoulders and pulling him down.

“Stop talking about it, and do it,” Steve hissed, coming up for air only to get the words out, then diving right back in, biting, devouring, doing his best to fuck Bucky with his tongue as his hips sought friction against the body sprawled over him.

Bucky didn’t answer, couldn’t even if he’d wanted to, but he let out another small, growling-huffing noise as he fumbled with the bottle. It was too much for Steve’s instincts. After holding them back so long, the little he’d let out had shattered his defenses. He growled back, low and long and deep, even as kept kissing, holding Bucky atop him, assaulting his mouth.

The reaction to his growl, again, was a visible shiver that rolled through Bucky. God, but Steve loved that, loved the way Bucky always, always reacted to him. Maybe it wasn't always positive, but he never ignored Steve. Challenged him, forced him to think, and feel in ways he’d never expected.

The growl tapered off as cold, slick fingers brushed between his cheeks, and Steve inhaled sharply.

“Jesus, you really want it,” Bucky said, tearing away to mutter the words against Steve’s lips.

“You talk too much,” Steve complained.

“Yeah?” Bucky murmured twisting to bite at Steve’s neck. His teeth dug into the tendon, but were careful not to break skin. Steve could feel that care and _hated it_ almost as much as he hated having Bucky’s teeth on his throat sending his instincts howling. Steve’s hands clamped down on Bucky’s shoulders, resisting the impulse to physically throw the Omega off.

“This better?” Bucky asked as Steve felt the first finger push past his rim. The shock of it quieted Steve’s impulses, though the digit itself didn’t feel like much at first. There wasn’t any pain, hardly any stretch, and Steve was shocked by how much he _wanted_ there to be more, to really feel Bucky opening him. Nevertheless, there was a shiver of excitement that it was _Bucky’s_ finger inside him. 

“Stop fucking around,” Steve snarled, hitching his hips downward, taking the finger deeper. 

Bucky gasped, sharp and needy against Steve’s skin. In response Steve hooked his leg over Bucky’s hips, feeling the hard muscle of the Omega’s ass under his calf as he pressed down, forcing Bucky closer, giving himself more friction against his leaking cock. It rubbed against Bucky’s stomach, smearing precome between their bodies, making each slide better than the last.

“Jesus Steve, you are so…” 

Whatever Steve was, Bucky never said. Instead, he pressed another finger in, slick and long and… Oh. Now Steve could feel the stretch. His breath caught, he shuddered, and from out of nowhere, his mind conjured up a memory of his past. Of Joseph Gray, a handsome Alpha who’d lived in the same building as Steve. The Alpha that had been beaten to death when people found out he liked to _take it like an Omega_. Steve remembered, unwanted, unwarranted, his mother’s face forbidding him to go out that day. And the whispers, how the police had come to take the body, and never bothered to investigate who had killed Mr. Gray. 

“Steve? You okay?” 

Bucky’s voice broke Steve from the memory and he looked up to find the Omega very still, his dark eyes focused completely on Steve. It warmed him that Bucky was this careful with him, as if Steve could break just from some fingers in his ass. It had been a long time since people had looked at him and seen a breakable, fragile person. Once, it would have irritated him, but while in the middle of this? No.

“You know. It’s not,” Steve cleared his throat. “You don’t mind I want this?”

Bucky shifted to prop himself on an elbow and pulled away enough to look at Steve. Slowly, he pulled his finger out.

“What?” Bucky was clearly confused, a small wrinkle forming between his brows.

“Wanting to…bottom,” Steve said carefully, feeling vulnerable for no logical reason at all. Bucky had been the one to ask, to request this. He hadn’t insisted, or made it a condition. There was no reason to think that Bucky would think less of him.

“Why would I mind?” Bucky asked slowly, “Because someone decided you’re not supposed to want it? Because somebody decided I’m not supposed to want it?” Bucky growled, voice dropping registers rapidly. “You saw how well I do with people thinking I should just fit into a nice little pattern of behavior.”

“You just don't like people telling you what to do,” Steve grumbled, pushing sweat damp hair out of his eyes.

Bucky twitched a little smile at him.

“Steve, if you want it, great, because _I_ want it. It’s nobody else’s damned business what we want.”

Steve smiled, reaching up to pull Bucky down. 

“Then I’m great. You’re great; we’re great.” 

Unable to help being a little enthusiastic, Steve kissed Bucky, hard and deep, and wet. He could feel Bucky’s lips stretch against the kiss in a silent laugh. The fingers pushed back inside, and curled, unerringly finding Steve’s his prostate. Gasping, suddenly too uncoordinated enough to kiss, he jerked back, arching, as Bucky’s laugh stopped being soundless and his low, teasing chuckle filled the room.

More than his laugh was teasing as Bucky rubbed over Steve’s prostate slowly with firm, strokes. It was so much more intense than when he did it himself because he could never tell when the next surge would come. Steve’s every breath was torn from his throat, his mind thinking only of the zings of pure pleasure that kept drowning his body in waves thanks to Bucky’s perfect aim. 

Snipers, Steve thought muzzily, that was the way to go.

Only when Bucky barked out a laugh did he realize he had said it out loud. Bucky’s forehead pressed against Steve’s sternum as he shook with laughter, though his fingers still inside Steve didn’t stop their maddening circles over Steve’s prostate. Hitting his fist against Bucky’s back only made the man laugh harder while Steve himself was writhing and moaning, his hips trying to force another finger into his body. It was only when Steve growled that Bucky stopped, that shiver running through his body once more.

“Another?” Bucky asked, stretching himself across Steve’s body to whisper right into his ear, his voice unbelievably low.

“I swear,” Steve managed to gasp with conviction, “If you don’t get on with this, I will _murder_ you.”

“I don’t know,” Bucky teased, “I just want to show you how it’s done. Because,” Bucky’s lips brushed the shell of Steve’s ear, the barely-there touch driving him mad, “if you do it right, your knot will drag over my prostate on every thrust. Then, once it swells,” Bucky scraped his teeth over Steve’s skin, the sensation a sharp contrast to the fingers still rubbing rhythmically in those perfect, horrible circles until Steve was seeing spots, “and gets good and hard and big inside me...” 

“Jesus, Buck,” Steve gasped.

“It’ll press at my prostate,” Bucky kept on whispering and Steve was whimpering, honest-to-god whimpering just imagining it, “just like this.” 

Illustrating his sentence, Bucky pressed viciously against Steve’s tormented prostate, making him cry out. 

“Hint taken,” Steve managed to whimper, dimly aware that he was going to come. He was going to come from this any second now, any moment and... Bucky pulled his fingers out without warning.

“It better have,” Bucky threatened, planting a bite on Steve’s jaw, leaving what felt like a hundred teeth marks on Steve’s skin.

Straightening up, Bucky reached for the lube bottle abandoned beside Steve’s hip. He looked Steve in the eye as he picked it up, thumbed it open and squeezed a generous amount onto his flesh fingers. When he looked down, his fingers, cold and slick, pressed against Steve’s hole.

Though he’d expected it, the chill made his muscles spasm.

“Jerk,” Steve panted when he saw Bucky smirk. 

Any more words were pushed out of Steve when he felt three thick, calloused fingers push past his rim. Though not quite painful, the stretch of his body around them was impossible to ignore. Bucky was going too slow for that, being too careful with Steve, but it was present and insistent. Inescapable. 

It lasted only moments. Then, Bucky’s fingers were sliding in easier, the resistance lessening. The serum’s enhancements allowed his muscles to stretch more easily, adjust faster. Though, just because the burn lessened, didn’t mean Bucky’s fingers inside him felt less overwhelming. All that flesh pressing inside him, opening him up, was a feeling Steve thought he could get addicted to.

“Please,” Steve managed, “Do it; get inside me.” 

Bucky moaned, or whimpered, choked-off and tight, and it stroked the fire inside Steve’s belly higher. Spreading his knees wider, exposing himself shamelessly with his hard cock lying on his belly in a little pool of precome, he hoped to spur Bucky on. It worked. The sight seemed to be too much for Bucky, and he cursed, reaching for the bottle of lube. Sitting up, Steve took the bottle from him, squirting too much into his hands before reaching for Bucky’s cock. He hadn’t actually gotten the chance to touch it yet, and he wasn’t going to pass up this opportunity. 

Wrapping both hands about Bucky’s cock, Steve’s fingers closed over the hot, hard flesh, slicking the silky skin with excess lube. Bucky cursed again, metal hand flying to catch Steve’s shoulder as he moved his hands slowly from root to tip. It wasn’t nearly enough. Curious and excited beyond reason, Steve wrapped his other hand around Bucky’s balls. Holding them, he squeezed gently, and held on, just weighing them in his hand. Impatient, Bucky pushed him away a moment later, panting and flushed. He wrapped his flesh hand around his cock, the metal one moved to Steve’s hip, and he manhandled Steve with that ease that made Steve’s breath catch in his throat. 

Moments later, Steve felt the first touch of Bucky’s cock against his hole, firm and soft all at once. Thankfully, Bucky didn’t linger, and Steve was consumed with the stunning stretch of Bucky pushing inside. The sensation pushed the breath right out of Steve, made him whine uncontrollably as Bucky bottomed out in one slow movement. Steve flailed, reaching for something, anything, to hold on to and locked on Bucky’s metal elbow, pulling it hard enough that Bucky lost his grip on Steve’s hip and fell forward onto his chest. The movement jolted Bucky’s cock inside Steve, and Steve gasped, gripping harder, unaware of anything but the feeling of Bucky inside him. The weight of his cock rested so deep inside him, the girth of it, the fullness, and how it stretched him deeper than he had ever felt.

Bucky wasn’t so controlled now, panting as if he had run a marathon, his hips twitching helplessly even as Steve could feel him trying to stay still.

“Yeah,” Steve groaned, “yes, come on.”

The moan Bucky made was in turns relieved, eager, and grateful. Mostly, it was eager, and Steve arched as Bucky pulled out slowly, choking on air as he then pushed back in. There was as much stretch with the second thrust as there had been with the first, and Steve moaned loudly, eyes fluttering closed as Bucky sank back in completely.

“God, that’s good,” Steve panted.

When Bucky thrust in again, Steve didn’t let him keep the up the snail’s pace he’d used when he started. Shifting his hips, Steve pushed down and Bucky let out a strangled cry as their hips slapped together. Steve gasped, head thrown back, as Bucky’s cock scraped along his prostate.

“Yeah, like that, again. More.”

“And you said I talk too much,” Bucky choked out, but he listened, pulling out and slamming back into Steve again. Then again, and Steve could hardly do more than breathe and hold on when Bucky adjusted what felt like a fraction, and pleasure exploded behind his eyes. Steve’s cock ached, throbbing, and nearly painful where the knot would form once he was fully in rut.

Above him, Bucky was a vision of desire, head hanging low between his shoulders, loose hair sticking to his sweaty forehead and neck as he worked to give Steve what he wanted. His muscles bunched repeatedly, flexing with every powerful thrust.

“So... God, you,” Steve babbled brokenly, pawing at whatever flesh he could reach.

“Good?” Bucky offered. “Big?”

Steve shook his head and Bucky thrust harder, hooking Steve’s legs over his elbows and hoisting his ass into the air as if Steve was some kind of sixty-pound twink in a porn flick. He managed to thrust deeper like this and Steve cried out, arching, but unable to do more than that as Bucky fucked him senseless.

“Not good?” Bucky growled, more a threat than a question, a drop of sweat travelling down his temple.

“So good, so...god,” Steve flailed verbally, searching for a word he couldn’t find. He was an artist, for Christ’s sake, he wasn’t good with words. 

When Bucky laughed, disjoined, breathless, and somehow deliciously sexy, Steve realized he’d done it again, said the thought aloud. Which was stupid, because when he tried to speak, he couldn’t get more than a word without forgetting how to do more than moan. The pleasure ebbed and flowed, yet built, higher, feeling like a coil ready to spring. All Steve could think of was the cock inside him, the stretch of it, the weight. All he could smell was sex and sweat, Omega, and hormones. It was driving him mad, completely insane with sensations.

“F-fuck me,” Steve begged. Commanded? It could have been either. Maybe it was both. It didn’t matter. What did matter was that Bucky _was_. He _was_ , and the pleasure burst like fireworks inside him.

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky!” Steve shouted, his spent, but still-hard cock throbbing angrily as his knot threatened to swell with nothing to surround it, and the pleasure was as much pain. 

Steve didn’t care.

“Steve, Christ,” Bucky cursed, thrusting faster, mouth hanging open as he panted for air, sweat dripping off his forehead onto Steve’s skin. Then he was coming, too. Filling Steve and…

“Oh, god,” Steve groaned.

Warmth filled him and Bucky slumped forwards, collapsing into the mess on Steve’s belly. If he cared, he didn’t show it, muscles relaxed as he practically stretched out atop Steve. His cock, softened now, slipped free of Steve’s ass, leaving him empty and clenching on nothing, hyper aware of all the wetness there. His own cock gave another angry throb, and Steve inhaled sharply, holding Bucky close. The Omega was clearly done, or at least temporarily spent. Steve, on the other hand, was just hitting his stride. The first orgasm was always the easiest, the ones that came after where what left Steve mindless with need.

And, maybe, Steve’s conscience whispered, he wouldn’t want more after one. Bucky, after all, wasn’t in thrall to his libido. He could stop whenever he wanted. 

That whisper couldn’t keep Steve’s hands from wandering, sliding over Bucky’s back, over sweat-slick skin, along his spine to the top of his ass. Swallowing hard, Steve tried to stop his hands from moving lower, from squeezing each cheek and pulling them apart. Atop him, Bucky wiggled and Steve groaned as his cock, trapped between them, enjoyed the friction.

“Buck?” Steve prompted thickly, the pads of his fingers circling the small, tightly-closed hole. “I gotta know. I mean, if you’re done, I understand, but you gotta tell me now.” 

Steve fought himself not to push his fingers in. This time, at least, he was winning.

“Hmm?” Bucky made an inquisitive noise, but didn't seem inclined to stop Steve’s exploring.

Steve groaned, a sound that changed to a growl, before turning his head and nipping sharply at Bucky’s jaw.

The Omega jerked back, out of reach of Steve’s teeth and glared.

“Hey!”

“You gotta listen,” Steve pleaded, demanded, commanded; it was all the same. “I ain’t got much left.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky murmured, flattening himself against Steve’s chest again, all slow and relaxed once more, like a satisfied cat. “Instead of talking so much, just get your fingers inside me. I won't stay this relaxed for eternity, you know.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Steve swore, or prayed, or both.

Wrapping his arms tight about Bucky, Steve flipped them both over. Limp as he was, Bucky just went, sprawling out on the blankets, loose and easy beneath him. Pliant, submissive, the way that spoke to the parts of Steve he had been trying to suppress. He growled and Bucky shivered, eyes opening to watch him from beneath hooded lids. As if the growl had been a command, Bucky spread his legs and slowly tipped back his chin. Steve’s chest swelled, eyes darting to his Omega’s pulse. He’d earned this, he’d caused this. Bucky was his, would be his, to enjoy, to please, to satisfy.

Slowly, not wanting to lose this submission, wanting to please his Omega, Steve lay over Bucky. His hand splayed gently over the pulse point in his throat, the steady thrum beating against his palm. Tipping Bucky’s head back further, Steve nosed along his jaw and felt Bucky twitch. 

“Shh,” he soothed, brushing his lips along the path, “I’ll take care of you.”

Heart beating wildly, he brushed his lips lower, though not parting as if he’d wanted to bite, until he was brushing Bucky’s scent glands. A rumble started in Steve’s chest, then, as he parted his lips to lap at the spot, Bucky’s scent wafted into the air until it was all Steve could smell.

“No teeth,” Bucky warned again, but stayed still for him, trusting him to keep his word. 

The continuous growl grew louder, more satisfied at that display of trust. But the scent, it surrounded him, made him think of heat and friction, and a tightness that would end the pain. 

It was all Steve could do to think of anything other than how it would feel to push his cock inside his Omega, to push in until the whole of him was sheathed in the Omega’s heat. Finally, he could let go, let himself fuck until his knot swelled inside another body. His hands shook at the thought of doing it, of fucking Bucky for the minutes or hours it would take for Steve to be satisfied, of coming inside him over and over again, the knot forcing them together, forcing Bucky to just take and take and take until Steve was finally spent.

“Need you to stretch me, Big Guy,” Bucky urged, his voice quiet and encouraging. “It’s been awhile.”

The growl that left Steve wasn’t the previous rumbles of approval and desire he had let out before. It was angry, jealous, because other Alphas had had what was his. They had _hurt_ what was his. They hadn’t earned this, hadn’t deserved it; had taken by force what belonged to Steve because he hadn’t been there to protect Bucky. 

Beneath him, Bucky had stilled at his growl, and it was Steve’s fault. Nosing at Bucky’s jaw, Steve sat up to look down at his Omega. Wary grey eyes watched him now, and Steve didn’t know how to fix that, but he did know how he could keep other Alphas away without biting and _ensuring_ Bucky stayed his. 

Leaning down so their foreheads pressed together, Steve swiped the scent gland in his wrist along Bucky’s throat. The grey eyes went wide as he did it again, along his other side. Marking, claiming, letting anyone within several feet of Bucky know that he belonged to an Alpha. That he belonged to Steve.

Bucky’s breathing was still erratic when Steve growled, “Mine.”

“Steve,” Bucky sounded hesitant, trailing off uncertainly, wary, but still vulnerable. Offering to Steve what he showed to no one. Giving this to him when he’d wanted no other.

“Mine,” Steve repeated, softer, tenderly, as he rubbed his wrist along Bucky’s collarbone. 

It didn’t matter that Bucky didn’t confirm it, didn’t speak again, Steve’s scent was on his skin. It didn’t escape Steve that Bucky didn't stop him, either. It was a rush having Bucky submit to him, to the marking. Now, beneath Steve, he was so wildly different from his usually aggressive and contrary self. Yet, he remained unbowed. It was unlikely that he had previously allowed an Alpha to so purposely lay claim to his body in this fashion. 

Dipping his head, taking another deep breath of Bucky’s scent, Steve forced himself to pull away. 

“What…?” Bucky started to say, but interrupted himself with a yelp as Steve effortlessly flipped him onto his stomach. Moaning into the mattress, Bucky looked back at Steve as he kissed down his spine, nipping occasionally, unwilling to stop tasting his Omega, even as he crawled down his body. He revelled in the heat, the closeness offered to him, the freedom of touching all that skin, the feel of the tiny hair under his palms as he slid his hands down those muscular, perfect thighs.

Settling onto his knees between Bucky’s legs, he crawled lower, taking one firm cheek in each hand and spreading them wide. Licking his lips, Steve stared at Bucky’s puckered hole. It wasn’t slick, as Bucky wasn’t in heat. Steve let himself imagine it then; it would be twitching, open, as Bucky’s body made itself ready for Steve’s knot. It would be effortless to stretch him, slide inside that tight heat that would clutch at his knot. 

Steve pressed his thumbs against the tight ring of muscle, pulling gently. Bucky’s breathing hitched as he wriggled from the sensation, so Steve pressed and earned a whine. The sound went straight to Steve’s cock, and he groaned, bending his neck without thinking and licking over Bucky’s hole. The surprised gasp that resulted was nearly as nice as the whine, and Steve licked again, tasting Bucky’s heat and making him groan, and he couldn’t get enough. Holding Bucky open, Steve licked over the rim, then thrust his tongue as deep inside as he could. He marvelled at the feel of the silky skin, how soft it was, how yielding. 

“Shit,” Bucky cursed, hands clenching in the sheets as he pushed his ass into Steve’s face. 

“Like that?” Steve asked, teasing, before he dove in for another taste. 

Earning his nickname, the Omega bucked as Steve’s tongue delved into his heat, and began licking him open. He cursed and gasped, but wasn’t trying to get away. He was trying to get closer and get friction on his once-again hardening cock. That Bucky was hard again from Steve’s attentions kept Steve licking long past when he would have otherwise stopped, kept him pulling back to tease about the rim, then fuck Bucky with his tongue over and over until his jaw began to ache and Steve knew he had to get his mouth away from Bucky’s skin.

Panting as if he’d run for hours instead of lying still, Steve flipped Bucky back over. The Omega hadn’t been expecting it as he let out a little, “Oh,” of surprise as he landed on his back. As before, Buck’s legs parted invitingly, and Steve quickly slipped forward, pushing them open even wider. 

“You gonna stare,” Buck prompted, “or you gonna get on with it?”

Steve smoothed his hands up Bucky’s thighs, his hands shaking with the _need_ to be inside his Omega, the need to fill him up, stake his claim, and soothe the pain and ache in his own body. Somehow, he managed to get the lube from between the folds of the sheets with trembling fingers, using far more than he intended so it dripped onto the bedding. Bucky didn’t laugh at him, though, staring at him with dark, fathomless grey eyes. Steve’s own eyes kept drifting back to the tight pink hole between his legs. The focus of the all-consuming need that was burning through him. His hands were shaking, his breath heavy as he pressed the first, wet digit inside Bucky. 

It went easy, too easily, and Steve distantly thought that Bucky was helping him, bearing down on his finger. He wanted to be gentle, take his time with Bucky because the Omega deserved it. But the need kept him from being slow or careful, because he _couldn’t_. He _needed_ , and it was all he could manage to remember that Bucky should be stretched. Steve removed his finger and pushed back in with two, both dripping with lube. Bucky wasn’t in heat, he wasn’t self-lubricating, and he needed the stretch and slick, but Steve needed inside him so badly. 

So damned badly. 

As he pushed his fingers in, Steve watched them disappear inside Bucky, enjoying the incredible silkiness, the strength around him. A few shallow thrusts later, Steve pulled them out again, grabbing the lube and squeezing a generous amount over Bucky’s inviting and vulnerable hole. Bucky shivered and Steve growled, pushing as much of the lube inside with his fingers as he could. 

Narrowing his focus to this single task, Steve managed to take his mind off his achingly hard cock, steadily dripping precome between his legs. He lost track of time as he fingered Bucky, adding lube when necessary, his world narrowed to the stretch of muscle about his fingers. As the resistance eased, Steve upgraded from two to three, Bucky’s body taking the digits with little trouble. He stretched around his fingers effortlessly, as if made for Steve.

Bucky’s moaning brought Steve out of this zone, breaking his nearly-meditative trance. Looking up, he found Bucky’s eyes were closed, his head thrown back so his throat arched, totally exposed. That wasn’t what captured his attention, though. It was Bucky’s flesh hand closed around his cock, slowly pulling at it. 

Steve surged up, his patience gone in an instant, needing to be inside Bucky at last. Gripping the Omega’s thigh, intending to hook it over his hip, he felt Bucky resist for the first time. Steve growled or maybe whined, he wasn’t sure, wasn’t coherent enough to _tell_ , as Bucky squirmed beneath him, worming his thigh between them. He didn’t know what he’d done wrong, how he’d displeased his Omega, but he had. 

“Wait,” Bucky said, eyes dark, lips swollen from kissing and biting. He didn’t _look_ unhappy, but Steve hadn’t been as slow or gentle as he could have been. Maybe he needed more stretching. It couldn’t be that Bucky wanted him to stop; Steve wasn’t sure he _could_ stop. 

Reaching for the lube, he froze again as Bucky said, “Easier from behind,”

It took a moment before his brain decoded the words and yes, the position; Bucky was right. It would be easier on Bucky if Steve took him from behind, easier to bear the knot, easier to stand having it inside for so long. Without another moment’s hesitation, Steve flipped Bucky over like a rag doll. Bucky went with it with a huff, landing on his stomach, legs spread. Steve stared at the expanse of powerfully-muscled back, the gleam off the metal shoulder, and the perfectly round globes of Bucky’s ass. Reaching out, he spread them, exposing the lube-slick pink hole to the cold air and his hungry gaze.

As if he could feel it, Bucky moaned and arched his back, raising his ass. _Presenting_ to Steve. It made Steve’s mouth water, a growl ripping from his chest. If anything, that growl had Bucky arching further, offering more to Steve’s eyes, his hands, his cock. Offering his body to Steve’s mercy, and it took a monumental effort not to just push his cock into that inviting hole. 

Once again, Steve’s hands were shaking as he fumbled the bottle of lube open again. His left hand was slick with lube already from recoating his fingers so many times, and the shaking wasn’t making it any easier to slick them again. But Steve was desperate, and he finally closed his fist around his cock. Cursing, because it felt way too good, he gave himself a few strokes. Mostly it was to fully coat his dick, but also he was helpless, desperately needing something squeezing about his half-formed knot. As good as his own hand felt, knew Bucky’s body would feel even better. 

Pressing the head of his cock against Bucky’s slick hole, he pushed. Steve stared as the muscle stretched and gave under the pressure. Then the head slipped inside, and his eyes crossed at the sensation of the slick, tight grip. The way it enveloped Steve like a silky glove took his breath away, but he didn’t get a chance to just enjoy the sensation. Bucky moaned loudly and pushed back, making it suddenly easy to slide all the way in. 

“Jesus, Buck,” Steve swore as he sank in, trying to speak and still incapable of full sentences. “Jesus, fuck you just. I ca… _Oh_.” 

Steve’s world narrowed to where they were connected, the heat and tightness and the overwhelming pleasure of Bucky’s body. He didn’t even realise he was bruising Bucky’s hips until he blinked his eyes open - and when had he closed them? - to see the red marks forming around his white fingertips. 

“Bucky,” he managed to gasp, unclenching his hands from his Omega’s hips. “Are you…?”

Bucky interrupted, voice breathy and tense, not letting him finish the question.

“Not my first rodeo, Steve.” He shifted to brace himself on his elbows, the muscles of his back rolling beneath his skin. “Quit coddling me.” 

The words ended in a snarl, and Bucky slammed himself backward, hard enough that Steve’s half-formed knot slipped past the tight rim. Gasping, hands tightening again, Steve still didn’t stop Bucky as he pushed back so far his cheeks pressed against Steve’s hips. Helpless, overwhelmed, and so blind with lust he felt stupid, Steve just stared at the stretch of muscle before him, the obscene dip of Bucky’s waist, and all-but-perfect swell of his ass. Bucky’s head was lowered, dark hair parted over the nape of his neck, exposing a small, vulnerable sliver of skin to Steve’s hungry gaze.

“I want to,” Steve gasped, lungs seizing up, filled to bursting with the scent of _Bucky_ and sex and need.

God, but his jaw ached.

“Fuck me,” Bucky growled, fierce and unbowed, even on his knees with a cock up his ass, “Come on, do it already.”

Inhaling sharply, Steve flexed his grip on Bucky’s hips. The bruises he had created were faded to just faint disappointing smudges. His mark gone as soon as he’d left it. 

That thought in his mind, Steve pulled back. The sensation was intense, his sight whiting out completely and he had to use the grip on Bucky’s hips to keep himself upright. He moaned, but was only distantly aware he had as the tight heat moving around him felt like nothing else ever had. The silky, hot grip on his cock was brutal in its fierceness, inescapable and perfect. It felt like nothing he had ever known. Not only the tight, tight clench of Bucky’s body, but his heat, his presence. And the sounds Bucky made… Steve pulled out too far, the slight bulge where his knot would form stretching the pink ring of muscle before it popped free from the abundance of lube Steve had slathered them both with. 

Startled, Steve stared, and Bucky’s hole twitched and closed up. It was pink, a little swollen and glistening with lube. Steve was brought back to himself as Bucky let out a low, helpless whining moan that sounded as hungry for Steve as Steve was for him. 

“You bastard,” Bucky gasped, spreading his knees more and pushing his ass back as if Steve had pulled out deliberately, or as if he needed any more incentive to return.

Though he wanted to laugh, or even answer, Steve couldn’t do anything but wrap his hand around his cock and inch closer, pressing the head against that slick puffy hole. 

“Steve…” 

Now Bucky was pleading, spreading his legs even more so Steve could see the way his balls were hanging heavy between his legs, his hard cock beneath, the flushed head almost brushing the sheets beneath them. Unwilling and unable to deny Bucky this, Steve pushed in again. He was braver this time, remembering the way Bucky had just taken his cock completely to the hilt. It was even better than before, the sensation no longer marred by anxiety. Gasping, groaning at the feel, Steve rotated his hips and pulled out until his knot pulled at Bucky’s rim. 

Beneath him, Bucky was whining, a low moan that was pulled from his throat. Steve tried again to set up an easy rhythm, something careful, slow and gentle…but it was useless. Instincts taking over, his body ran away from him, hips snapping against Bucky’s hard and fast. Bucky let out a strangled sound, metal hand snapping forward to grip the low wooden headboard. The whole bed slammed against the wall and Steve opened his mouth to offer some kind of apology - maybe - except he watched Bucky’s flesh hand slap against the headboard too.

_Bracing_ for more.

“Oh god,” Steve moaned, helpless and awed.

Steve stopped trying to be the gentle one, and did what he had wanted to do from the first time he’d gotten a noseful of Bucky’s heat scent, sharp, sweet, smoky and so damned good. Compatible, it had screamed, yours, take, fuck, mate. Now, he took. Now he fucked, snapping his hips back and thrusting in, his cock driving into his Omega so strongly and deeply that the breath rushed out of Bucky’s lungs.

Soon, Steve’s whole being centered in his cock. The tight, silky heat of Bucky’s body drove every coherent thought right out Steve’s mind. Only the animal, the Alpha, was left in its wake. Every sound Bucky made only stoked the heat inside Steve. Every time his balls slapped against Bucky’s taint, another zing of pleasure rippled down his back. Already Steve knew he was close. The tension and pressure neared painful levels, built and built, as he thrust hard and fast. When it happened, Steve nearly sobbed in relief, as he felt his knot form and expand rapidly. 

Pushing in as deep into Bucky as possible, Steve relaxed as the tension broke, the pain stopped. He was dizzy, almost lightheaded, feeling his knot expand while having that additional pressure from Bucky’s body. His Omega released a sharp, breathless cry, and lost his grip on the headboard, chest sinking down onto the bed, his hips still up, legs spread, ass pressed flush to Steve’s hips as Steve’s knot continued to expand. Steve knot had claimed him and they both felt it, tying them together until Steve was finished. Until he had satisfied himself completely with Bucky’s body.

As Bucky continued whimpering, squirming in place, Steve held still. The incoherent noises leaving his Omega chipped at what remained of Steve’s control, but he knew he needed be careful until his Omega adjusted. Skin beading with sweat, thighs shaking, Steve moved on instinct. Shifting his knees, spreading them between Bucky’s legs, he forced his Omega to spread himself even wider. Then he carefully pulled out as far as the knot allowed, the edge tugging against Bucky’s hole, blurring the line between pleasure and pain as the pressure became too much. 

An Alpha’s knot formed around the middle of his cock, allowing for some movement for thrusting, enough that he still had stimulation to come. And Steve was going to come. Now, from this heat, the pressure, the cessation of pain, and the perfect sight of Bucky stretched beneath him. Almost in a trance Steve pushed back in, the thrust slower as the knot moved inside Bucky, stretching him beyond reason. Bucky gasped, cursing as Steve started pulling out again and immediately thrust, hard, back in. Bucky shouted as Steve curled himself over Bucky’s back as he breathed in the smell of his sweat and musk, dragging his lips over the sweat-slick skin. 

The urge to bite rose in Steve again, the scent of a compatible Omega almost overwhelming his sense of self. In a last ditch effort to keep his word, Steve turned his head, bit down on the metal curve of Bucky’s artificial shoulder as his knot expanded further, and he came. Spurt after spurt of come shot inside Bucky, so deep it wouldn’t leak out, even if Steve fucked him again and again. And, oh god yes, he wanted that. He wanted to fuck and fuck until Bucky was mindless, limp, and covered in his seed from head to toe. 

The orgasm crashed over Steve in endless waves, wringing him out, as his thoughts tumbled over each other, Bucky and sex, his Omega, and fucking him senseless. When he became aware again, Steve realised he was still curled over Bucky, his hips still pumping, and Bucky was letting out breathy little noises at every twitch of Steve’s hips. 

Steve smirked, remembering what Bucky had said, that his knot would press at Bucky’s prostate if he did it right.

“Bucky,” Steve slurred, sated, but still turned on, still needing, this orgasm just the beginning. “‘S’it good?” 

Bucky didn’t answer with words, too far gone for it. Instead he groaned quietly, a little sound somehow inviting and accepting. He rolled his body into Steve, his back arching and, Jesus, it was so hot, so damned hot.

Pressing his lips to Bucky’s sweaty neck, Steve nosed at his hair, letting go of his hip long enough to slide his own hand between Bucky’s body and the bed. He spread his palm over the Omega’s firm abs, so tense Steve could count every muscle with ease. He followed those muscles down, lower, through the damp thatch of hair, to his cock leaking precome. Steve closed his hand around the hilt, just holding, enjoying the silky soft skin stretched tightly over the engorged flesh. 

Purposefully now, he slowly fucked into Bucky again. Dragging his knot out to pull almost painfully at Bucky’s hole, then pushing back in as deeply as he could. Bucky was panting, whining a little and so damn close Steve could smell it on him.

“Come on, give it up Buck,” Steve encouraged. “I just started; I’ve gotta fuck you more, breed you.” Steve could hardly believe the things coming out of his mouth, “That was just the first,” he promised. “I can come so many more times; I feel it, I _know_ it. I’m gonna make you come too; I swear I will. Come on.” 

Recovering from his orgasm quickly, Steve gained enough coordination to snap his hips harder into Bucky, forcing his knot deeper, making Bucky take it. They were locked now; Bucky would be stretched on his knot for however long it took Steve to get over his rut, however many orgasms his body was capable of enduring. They wouldn’t be able to stop, Bucky unable to get away, not with how big Steve’s knot was now. It was stretching him, locking him on Steve’s cock; locking Steve’s come inside Bucky. Steve wanted to breed him so badly he could taste it, even if the tiny rational part of his mind told him it just wasn’t happening, not when Bucky wasn’t in heat too. This was just the rut talking for him, his imperative. 

On the second thrust, Bucky tensed beneath him, shoulders rolling, almost bucking Steve right off his back as his cock spurted over Steve’s hand. Steve didn’t stop moving though. He couldn’t stop the primal need to mate, to pull out and slam in as hard as he could even as Bucky grew oversensitive. The feeling of Bucky clenching down hard on his cock, his knot, only made Steve thrust harder, right through Bucky’s orgasm. The headboard hit the wall with every powerful push in, Bucky gasping as he shuddered through his orgasm. 

“Oh, oh shit,” Bucky muttered as Steve let go of his cock to grab at his hips, pull out as far as the knot allowed, then slam back in. “Oh fuck, oh shit, Steve that… Too much; oh, fuck.”

“No,” Steve panted, “Can’t. Can’t stop now. So good, Buck, you’re so fucking good. Tight and,” he grunted, adjusting his grip so he could thrust all the harder, leave bruises on Bucky’s skin that said he had been there. “Need you so bad.”

Bucky moaned, his back arching beautifully beneath Steve. 

“Yes,” Bucky agreed hoarsely. “I will,” he gasped, “I’ll give you what you need.” His voice was wrecked, low and gravelly, rustling like dry leaves as he promised to take care of Steve. ”Take it, want you to. Fuck…”

Muscles bunched and flexed beneath Bucky’s skin as he strained. He lifted his arms, bracing against the headboard once more before pushing back, pushing himself back onto Steve’s cock. Meeting his eager, needy thrust again and again. It was too much, too perfect, as Bucky gave Steve exactly what he’d said he would, what his body needed, helping him thrust faster, harder, and deeper each and every time.

“Oh, fuck, Bucky,” Steve cursed, sweat already beading on his skin and dripping to mingle with his Omega’s.

Without warning, Steve came again, spilling himself once more into his Omega. Bucky shouted when Steve still didn’t stop, panting through his orgasm. Beneath him, Bucky cursed and whined, pushing back, moving with Steve. Then he was shuddering, flesh hand slipping from the headboard, as a second orgasm had his body jerking and tensing, clenching down on Steve’s pulsing cock.

“Wait,” Bucky moaned. “Please…” 

Steve didn’t stop. If he’d wanted to, he wasn’t sure he could. Bucky felt too good, his body laid out like a banquet before him and squeezing Steve’s knot. If Steve could have, he would have thrust faster, harder, but he was going at his Omega as hard as he could already. Even Bucky’s enhancements couldn’t keep up, his metal arm slipping from the headboard as well, as Steve fucked him straigt through his orgasm.

“Oh, jesus,” Bucky choked out, breathless and panting, “You bastard; you are so good.” 

The last word was swallowed by another moan as Steve pulled Bucky’s hips higher, using only the strength of his arms to keep Bucky’s ass in the air, at a perfect angle to get more leverage, to get that additional inch and that much deeper. Steve must have hit a good spot because, with every thrust, Bucky reacted as if somebody was striking him, jerking and squirming, completely uncoordinated. His skin was slick with sweat and he was moaning continuously. 

Steve lost track of time as he thrust, his body moving with thought only to the burning need filling his every nerve, every thought. The scents, the smell of their combined sweat filling his nose, the sounds of their coupling obscuring every other. Though he knew he spoke, he didn’t know what he was saying except that it was praise. Praise of Bucky’s body, his beauty, the way he felt, and his scent; at least Steve guessed because it was all he could think of. 

When he came again, body overheated and sweat dripping into his eyes, he clenched his teeth and growled, slamming deeply into Bucky as he spilled himself yet again. His come all but flooded his Omega, would have dripped free if his knot wasn’t locking it inside. Grip slipping, Steve fell forward, barely catching himself on the mattress before falling onto Bucky’s back. Bucky still lay chest-down on the bed, face turned to the side so he could breathe. His hair stuck to his flushed skin, lips parted and red, as he gasped for air. Carefully sitting up again, Steve could see a host of finger-shaped bruises fading even as he watched.

The sight of their disappearance had Steve growling with displeasure.

“Jesus,” Bucky gasped, voice slurring, the little twitches fading into relaxation, “that was intense.”

Steve laughed, short and breathless in his own right, because he wasn’t anywhere near _close_ to finishing.

“Was?” he asked half-teasing, voice high-pitched as his cock twitched inside Bucky, as hard as when they’d started. His knot was full and heavy, inescapable inside his Omega’s tight tunnel. “You think I’m done?”

Pulling out a little, Steve watched Bucky’s entire body arch like a bowstring as his cock dragged over Bucky’s sensitive insides.

“Oh hell,” Bucky cursed, his metal hand flying out to brace against the headboard again.

Steve let him go, followed him down to the bed as Bucky spread his knees, giving Steve room, giving him _permission_ to continue.

“Oh, god, Bucky,” Steve moaned, spread over Bucky’s back. Every inch of their skin was touching, pressed together slick and hot. Steve’s cock was buried, somehow deeper, inside Bucky’s ass, and it was all he could do not to twist his Omega’s head about and sink his teeth into the scent glands beneath his ear. 

This time, Steve tried to go slower, thrusting in carefully, sliding his hand beneath Bucky, to his soft cock and cradling it. Bucky’s flesh hand joined Steve’s, tightening as if to pull the grip away. He never did, though, his hand leaving only to return over and over again, uncertain in a way Steve had never seen. Though he didn’t get hard, Steve held Bucky through every thrust it took to get to his next orgasm. The overwhelming need had finally faded beneath his skin, letting Steve enjoy the tight used passage still squeezing him. 

When it was over, it was too soon. Steve’s body seized up, pleasure spiking and spilling, shutting off his mind. His muscles twitched, synapses firing randomly as he lay across Bucky’s sweaty back. Moaning softly, his weight heavy over his Omega’s body, he nosed at Bucky’s hairline, only pulling back when he whined a protest. Flattened under his weight, Bucky squirmed, whining and moaning every time Steve shifted even a little inside him. The cock in his hand had grown hard again, swollen nice and firm, slick with precome and come from his previous orgasm. 

Steve rolled to the side, taking Bucky with him. The movement ended with them both on their sides, Steve’s knot still deep within his Omega, making it impossible for Bucky to forget where he was, what he was doing. Stretching him so even tomorrow he would remember that he had been claimed.

“Mine,” Steve murmured into Bucky’s ear, lips tracing the shell. 

Shivering, Bucky clamped his flesh hand on Steve’s wrist as he started stroking Bucky. 

“So good to me,” Steve purred, a long, low, approving growl continuously filling the room as he stroked Bucky slowly, enjoying the way his cock felt in his hand. “So perfect; nobody else like you.” He rubbed his palm over the flushed head and squeezed while stroking downward. “Can’t get enough,” Bucky was cursing under his breath, between gasps and moans, shifting and squirming, clenching down harder on Steve’s knot, “Every part of you, fucking you, touching you, just smelling you; Christ, so good, Buck. Ain’t gonna stop. Can’t, not until I breed you.”

Bucky inhaled sharply at the last sentence, as if Steve had shocked him.

“‘S’it feel good, Buck? Inside you? Ain’t done yet, pretty. No where near done. You okay? You gonna take it for me? Gonna be good for me?”

“Oh god, Steve,” Bucky gasped, squirming madly in Steve’s hold, his flesh hand flying to lock on Steve’s forearm but not actually making Steve stop. Bucky all but whimpered, “You’re breaking me.” 

“No, no, pretty, gonna take such good care of you. Gonna make you feel so good. Feels good, doesn’t it?” Steve couldn't stand it anymore, circling his hips, and thrusting in, as hard as his limited leverage allowed, pushing another host of moans out of Bucky and forcing him to really feel his knot. “Doesn’t it?”

Bucky growled, weakly, but clearly irked. The sound made Steve smile; it wasn’t nearly strong enough to offer a genuine challenge, just Bucky expressing his contrary nature. He nipped at Bucky’s metal shoulder, needing to bite, and felt his Omega wriggle in his arms.

“You told me you could handle it,” Steve challenged, “Can you not keep up? Come on, pretty,” Steve squeezed Bucky’s cock, “I still need you.”

The sound that left Bucky’s chest was nearly a sob, his body bowing forward and hips grinding back against Steve’s hips. Moaning himself, Steve squeezed his Omega’s cock again and was rewarded with an aborted cry, Bucky’s body snapping back, bowing and arching the opposite direction against his chest.

“That’s it, pretty,” Steve encouraged, “Just let go.”

“Steve,” Bucky pleaded, and Steve gave in, moving again inside his Omega’s tight heat. He still wanted to bite, but clenched his teeth and nuzzled at Bucky’s jaw instead, trying to catch him in a kiss. The touch had Bucky’s head turning and Steve growled with approval as their lips brushed, Bucky’s parting on a gasp, then permanently parting on a groan. Steve licked the red lips, then inside, tasting as he thrust harder, his body overheated and senseless with lust.

Bucky seemed almost insensate in his arms, squirming and gasping as if Steve was killing him. Steve’s head was spinning with the sound of their mating: how Bucky moaned every time Steve moved, the way their hips slapped together when they met, Bucky’s metal arm whirling as he clenched and unclenched Steve’s wrist, Steve’s own growl filling the mating room with the sound of his satisfaction. And how could he not be satisfied? His mate, his Omega, was clearly still enjoying himself, tossing his head over Steve’s shoulder, throat exposed and vulnerable. Steve jerked him off faster, none-too-gently, his own mind full of imagination as he wondered how it would feel to have Bucky coming on his cock again, clenching down on Steve’s knot once more.

This time, Bucky came first, with a shout, arching and tensing, clamping down painfully tight on Steve’s knot. Every clenching spasm brought a hitch in his breathing, his cock spurting weakly over Steve’s hand. The scent of it, though - come, sweat, and hormones - pushed Steve over the edge, his cock and knot swelling as he came too. Jerking his head at the last moment, Steve again avoided biting Bucky and making him inescapably Steve’s, and he sobbed with the loss even as he squeezed Bucky close to him. Steve held as tight as possible to the heavy, muscled body in his arms, not afraid of breaking him, or even hurting him with simple carelessness. Steve was simply free to feel their skin slick with sweat, the moist slide of Bucky’s back against his chest. The pleasure swamped him, the freedom, all but turning his brain to mush and making him blank out for a long moment.

When Steve came down from the orgasm, he was still clutching Bucky close to him, holding tight, not even noticing the way the metal plates of Bucky’s shoulder dug into his own chest. The whole room smelled of hormones and sweat, the scent of sex permeating the air in a thick fog. Steve wanted to keep his Omega here for days, to make sure that Bucky’s couldn’t wash Steve’s scent away, couldn’t be mistaken for anything but his for days to come.

“Bucky,” he murmured, rubbing his cheek against the nape of Bucky’s neck. Slowly, Steve released his tight grip and Bucky slumped forward onto the bed onto his front, almost liquid in his exhaustion. Unable to do anything else, Steve followed him. He was still hard, his knot smaller now, not as firm as before, but still locking them together. Steve would not be able to withdraw without tearing Bucky apart, so he went, spreading himself over Bucky’s back, lying atop his Omega, ensuring his cock remained deep inside that tight tunnel.

“One more,” Steve whispered hoarsely, promising as much as praying, before licking a long strip of salty skin.

“Oh god,” Bucky muttered, shuddering into the sheets. His voice shook, breath hitching so the words came out broken. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Just one more,” Steve promised, feeling in his bones that his rut finally coming to an end. Almost, maybe; he hoped. He didn’t think he could take much more himself.

Steve licked between Bucky’s shoulder blades again, enjoying the way Bucky shuddered and his breath hitched. He pressed his nose into Bucky’s sweaty hair that scent that was purely, only Bucky.

“Just one more,” he repeated, lightheaded and dizzy from all the orgasms, floating, his brain all but fried with the pleasure.

Bucky just whimpered.

“I’ve got you,” Steve promised, “Soon, pretty. You can do it. I know you can. Been so good to me, so good…”

Steve braced his elbow on the bed, just above Bucky’s head, and slid his other under Bucky’s stomach. Spreading his fingers there, he felt how the flesh moved with every shuddering inhalation Bucky made. Steve liked this, liked being all over Bucky, covering him from head to toe, his cock so deep inside. 

Finally he moved, slow, the position giving him very little leverage, but he didn't care. He loved it, loved how he didn’t need to worry and could just rest his weight over his Omega. Could snap his hips into him, make him whimper, and Bucky just took it. His Omega’s breath caught and he squirmed, shifting and tensing over Steve’s knot, but he took it. 

Sharp little, “Oh,” sounds left Bucky every time Steve pushed in. Steve pulled his hand from beneath them, slid it between their bodies until his fingers found that place where they were connected and traced the swollen, clenching ring of muscle stretched over the girth of Steve’s cock. Bucky groaned at the touch, low and desperate, then shifted, his cries abruptly muffled. Twisting as worry gripped his chest, Steve saw he was biting the bedding. 

“Oh, Bucky,” Steve moaned, the sight making him a little mad, the image burned into his brain. 

Now in earnest, Steve snapped his hips into Bucky fast and hard, as fast as he could in this position. Helplessly, Steve himself mouthed at anything and everything he could reach, slobbering like an animal all over the wide, scarred back. His orgasm took him by surprise, the pleasure spiking without warning and breaking, flooding him, and blanketing his mind. This time, he didn’t black out completely, but drifted, sprawled over his Omega, fingers still tracing the place they were connected. As he came down, his whole body twitched with aftershocks. His cock felt sore and raw as it rapidly softened, his muscles letting him know how overworked they were as days’ worth of exhaustion finally caught up with him. 

Bucky was shivering under him, panting madly, but making no other sounds. Pushing himself up, Steve turned Bucky’s upper body enough to get to his lips. His Omega didn’t even pretend to resist, utterly limp as Steve pulled at his shoulder, making him release the fold of sheets he was gnawing. Eyes completely shrouded, lips red and swollen, parted and shiny, Bucky went where Steve wanted. The Alpha let out strangled noise as he dove down to catch that abused mouth and lick it, lick into it, desperate to kiss, to taste, to crawl right inside Bucky even as his knot finally, finally deflated. Steve kept kissing him as he pulled slowly, gently out, and Bucky _sobbed_ , honest-to-god sobbed right into Steve’s mouth, his metal hand coming up to clench Steve’s forearm.

At that point, Steve couldn’t have said what he was thinking, if he was thinking at all, as he ran his fingers over Bucky’s abused hole. The skin was puffy, hot, but also incredibly silky and wet from all the fluids that had rushed out of Bucky as Steve pulled out. Lube, come, all of it locked in there by Steve’s knot now gushed free. Bucky twitched violently, but his mouth remained open and soft, welcoming Steve’s tongue. Bucky was utterly pliant beneath him, letting him gently fuck him with his tongue in a dirty simulation of what they had just done. His hands came to Steve’s shoulders, holding on, and allowing Steve to do whatever he wanted. Taking whatever Steve had to give, giving his body to Steve. It turned Steve’s brain into mush, whatever was left of it, and Steve pushed a single finger inside that puffy hole. 

The skin was silky, hot, so soft around the digit. Bucky cried out right into the kiss, and Steve knew, just knew he needed to see him come one more time. He pulled back just enough to see Bucky’s flushed face; his wet hair sticking to his cheeks, his forehead, his neck; his eyes that were all pupil; and his his lips, opened wide, panting, swollen and so very red.

To Steve’s surprise, removing his finger provoked another loud cry. Steve hushed him, moved him, limp and unresisting, onto his back. Shifting over him, Steve arranged Bucky’s legs over his hips. Bucky didn’t protest, didn’t say a word, but when Steve leaned down to kiss him again, he opened under Steve’s lips eagerly, his tongue meeting Steve’s. His flesh fingers tangled in Steve’s hair, his metal hand closing over Steve’s shoulder. 

‘ _Mine, mine, mine_ ,’ Steve’s brain repeated, a mantra of need and want, and he didn't waste time. Pressing three of his fingers against Bucky’s swollen hole, warning Bucky what he was going to do, he slowly pushed them in. He didn't intend to fuck Bucky with them, just needed them inside. Needed Bucky to feel him as Steve brought him to orgasm one more time. Though he didn’t protest even still, his Omega all but shouted into his mouth, both hands clenching painfully on Steve’s shoulders, but he didn’t push Steve away. 

Steve broke the kiss finally, letting Bucky breathe, kissing his face; licking the small traces of tears away from his cheeks, his lids; listening to the rapid, shallow panting that had replaced Bucky’s usually controlled breathing. Steve kissed his chin, his cheeks, before sliding down to suck briefly on the hard nipples he regretted not having paid more attention to. Keeping his three fingers deep in Bucky’s hole, he slid lower, to Bucky’s heaving belly, rubbing his cheek over the short hairs around his half-hard cock. Steve licked at it, tiny kitten licks that made Bucky whimper and twitch. His Omega’s cock was no longer capable of a full erection, but that didn’t mean he couldn't come. When he moaned, Steve was sure of it. 

Opening his mouth wide, Steve took in as much as he could, which turned out to be almost all of Bucky’s soft cock. Bucky reacted as if being electrocuted, jerking and curling up over Steve’s head, clamping a hand in Steve’s hair and yanking. The metal hand clenched tighter, most likely leaving bruises, but Steve didn't care. Wearing his Omega’s mark was as intoxicating as seeing his own mark on Bucky. 

Sucking hard and fast, using his tongue as much as he could, Steve took Bucky over that last edge, making him come one last time. Sobbing and shouting, body spasming like mad, Bucky came. His cock only spurted a little precome inside Steve’s mouth, having never gotten fully hard again, but he came.

Moaning his satisfaction, Steve eased up, withdrawing his fingers carefully, letting go of Bucky’s cock. Crawling over his Omega, he chuckled as Bucky’s hands clamped so hard over his body, they lost their grip and fell to the sheets. Wanting nothing more than to wrap himself around Bucky, he ripped the filthy sheet from beneath Bucky’s body and threw it to the floor. 

When Bucky reached for him again, Steve’s heart clenched. 

“I’ll be right there, pretty,” Steve promised. “Just a second. We need new blankets. I gotta,” Bucky whined and Steve shuddered as the sound went through him, “Just… Just…”

Tearing himself away, Steve rushed about the room. Pulling open every drawer, the closet, he grabbed all the sheets and blankets he could find. Bringing his haul back to the bed, he rushed to spread all of it over Bucky before crawling inside the cocoon he’d made. Bucky’s hands pulled at him as soon as he was near, urging him closer as he wrapped himself around his Omega. 

“I’m here,” Steve murmured into Bucky’s hair, “I’ve got you. You’re safe, you’re okay.”

The easy way Bucky shifted to accommodate him, the way his body was soft and relaxed was a gift Steve doubted many Alphas had received, if any had at all. It stroked a primal part of him to know he was the only one to see this, to have this. He slid his hand over Bucky’s back, to the soft curve of his bicep. Even relaxed the cut of his muscles was impressive, the swell noticeable and perfect to curl his hand around. Bucky made a sleepy noise, and the muscle twitched under his palm, warm and alive. The Omega was only this relaxed because Steve had kept his word and hadn't bitten. While in rut, it was was almost unbearable to stop himself, but now, calmer, he knew it had been the right choice. Bonding just because one was in the grip of rut was a stupid and risky thing to do. 

As his body heat warmed the blankets and sheets, Bucky stopped shivering and lay quiescent in Steve’s arms. Holding him close, Steve pressed his nose into his Omega’s hair and couldn’t help but smile. He’d never felt this way, warm and floating, his chest so full and tight. Every breath and beat of his heart felt monumental. Every exhalation of Bucky’s against his skin tingled, his hands hot and cold against Steve’s skin. There was nothing Steve wanted more than to stay in this moment where there was no worries or cares, but ensuring Bucky was comfortable and safe in his embrace. Steve could have stayed like that for days, longer, holding Bucky, happier than he could ever recall. Except he was exhausted, eyes drifting shut... 

Until he was waking up, not remembering having fallen asleep. Automatically, he tightened his arms around Bucky… But there was no warm, hard body in his arms. Something cold and hard pulled at his heart, insistent and sharp. Steve gasped with it, sitting up, needing to follow at the same moment he realized the room was empty. 

“No, no, no,” Steve murmured, the pull coming harder, his chest aching like his heart had skipped a beat, then two. He scrambled to pull on pants, knowing before he checked that Bucky wasn’t in the bathroom. He wasn’t anywhere, not in the Triskelion, not within a mile. 

Bucky had left. 

Yanking a shirt over his head, desperate to follow the painful pull, he froze facing the door as realization and understanding crashed over him like tidal waves pulling him under. He knew where Bucky was, knew when they weren’t together. Could follow the instinct, the pull. If he did he’d find Bucky and it would stop hurting, stop aching because he’d be with…

His Omega, his bonded.

They had bonded, if only temporarily.

“Oh, no.” 

Steve slumped onto the bed, guilt twisting about the pain in his chest, the only thing keeping him from rushing out the door and chasing Bucky down. It was the only thing Bucky had asked for and Steve had promised. He hadn’t bitten, though, he hadn’t, but there it was. The pull and with it…

Frowning, Steve closed his eyes. The bond wasn’t what his mother had told him. There were no emotions in it, nothing but muted presence and pain. It was broken, the way the doctors had said it might be, thanks to the fever when he was eight that had taken the hearing in his left ear. Steve couldn’t even know if Bucky felt it, if he knew it was there, as damaged as it was. Steve didn’t understand how it could form at all if he hadn’t bitten Bucky, but it was there, there was no denying that. 

It was there and Bucky was gone, running because he didn’t believe Steve would keep him safe. No, he thought Steve would be his new prison, his jailor. And all while Steve had thought this, Bucky coming to him, taking his rut, had meant…something. A step forward, together, that Bucky would stay. But instead he’d gone, and Steve couldn’t blame him. Not now, not with the pain in his chest that meant he was no better than every other Hydra Alpha that had forced a claim on Bucky that hadn’t been wanted. Bucky had said very clearly, that he didn’t want to bond. Steve had done what he had promised not to, he had done what all the other Alphas had.

Blinking back the tears that threatened to fall, Steve pressed his hand to his heart. The bond wasn’t permanent, neither had bitten the other, so though it might last for a few weeks, it wouldn’t survive the month. Steve might follow Bucky, beg him to stay near until it was over. Except then he _would_ be Bucky’s jailor. Only a day or two would have passed until the briefing was done and the papers signed, but Bucky clearly hadn’t been able wait. Wouldn’t take the chance his freedom would be snatched away.

Standing, Steve went to the phone by the bed and keyed in Pepper’s private line. As he listened to the ring, he planned his next move. Debrief, get the papers signed because, despite running, Bucky had followed through on his part of the contract. Then the Avengers would find the people the World Security Council still had squirreled away. 

Rubbing his chest, Steve closed his eyes as Pepper’s voice came over the line. He didn’t have Bucky, but he had his work. He could resist this, he could give Bucky his freedom, and in the meantime, there was plenty to do.


	19. Chapter 19

“Now what?” 

Steve didn’t look up as Natasha asked the question. He hadn’t said a word to her since she’d told him the pardon had arrived. A pardon, as if Barnes had ever been formally charged with anything. Of course, it was more than that; Steve, through Pepper, had made sure. Acknowledgement of Barnes’ time as a POW and that his crimes had been committed under duress, as well as immunity from past crimes. If they wanted Barnes again, they’d have to frame him for something else.

Not that Barnes knew any of this, seeing as he’d bailed on them. Natasha couldn’t really blame him, though. She would have used that opportunity, placing him in an unsecured room without guards, to escape, too. What she couldn't blame Barnes for was using Steve as a means.

“Steve,” she prompted carefully. Steve had been acting strange ever since that whole Three Sisters fiasco. He’d been crusading like mad, working ten projects at once. It didn't take a genius to figure out that they’d spent Steve’s rut together. It also didn't surprise her that Steve had been more affected than Barnes. The Omega was too damaged to react like a normal person, too fixated on his independence and agency to give even a quarter. Steve on the other hand, Steve saw the best in people, saw what they could be instead of what they actually were, broken and tarnished. It hurt him, over and over, but the Alpha never stopped, never failed in his faith that people could behave better, could _be_ better. She was both grateful for it and hated it. That had been what had given her the strength to change, but it was also the thing that hurt Steve the most. He had opened himself to Barnes, she had no idea how much or what exactly had happened between them, but it was obvious it had affected him very strongly.

“Now I find him,” her Alpha finally answered. 

Natasha leaned against the wall, crossing her ankles and her arms as she processed the newest plan. Recently, Steve had had a lot of plans. This one was the least thought-out, and for Steve, that was saying something.

“How?” 

Steve knew full well that finding a ghost like Barnes without months of work and whole teams engaged into the search would be impossible. S.H.I.E.L.D. only got him as fast as they had because he was actively attacking them. They had tracked Natasha for almost two years before they had caught up with her, and Barnes’ training seemed remarkably in line with hers. If he didn’t want to be found, and she was sure he didn’t, he would be incredibly hard to find. 

Unless Steve had some kind of inside information she was unaware of. 

“I’m going alone, Nat,” he declared in low, clipped tones that was so unlike him. 

Natasha narrowed her eyes. Steve had a right to his secrets, she supposed, but he would have to work much harder than this to keep them with her around. Especially when he was acting so out of character. He had been distant, refraining from the casual touch that she had learned to love so much in recent years.

“That’s not what I asked.” 

For the first time in two days, Steve laughed. It was just a breath, but some of the tension she wouldn’t admit was fear, faded. She hadn’t a clue what had happened between Steve and Barnes once they’d wheeled her to her own private isolation chamber, but it had hit Steve hard. Not only did he act like he was in constant pain, he didn’t smile, not even at Tony’s worst jokes. 

And Steve wouldn’t talk about it.

“It’s what you meant,” Steve declared, glancing her way as his lips twitched into a smile that faded as fast as it appeared, “and I’m going alone. If I don’t check in in a few hours, you can send in the calvary.”

“Steve…”

“Nat,” he interrupted, “I need to do this.”

Which meant he wouldn’t be talked down, and would find a way to be alone if she pushed the issue. 

“And I need to know you’re not about to do something stupid,” she threw back.

“I’ll text you every fifteen minutes,” Steve offered, tucking the copied documents into a black folder emblazoned with the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo. 

Natasha stopped herself from nagging, since it would only give away that she knew he was doing something stupid by his response. Not for the first time, she considered if Steve had helped Barnes escape. Perhaps he wasn’t supposed to use this method to find the highly trained, and very dangerous Omega. Unlike most of the general population she didn’t see Steve as a perfect beacon of truth. the man could and would lie if he thought it was the right thing to do.

“You may want to change the folder,” she pointed out mildly, imagining the various and violent ways Bucky would react to any S.H.I.E.L.D. logo in his vicinity.

For the second time, Steve’s lips twitched into a smile.

“Thank you, Nat,” he said sincerely

Natasha watched Steve transfer the documents to a different, nondescript blue folder, then shrug back into his leather jacket. Straightening from the wall, she uncrossed her arms and raised the left one to rub at her neck. When she was putting it down again she used the other hand to tease loose a hidden fold in her sleeve, feeling a tiny bump of a micro bug stick to her fingertip. There were some things a girl should never leave home without and listening devices were as necessary as lipstick.

“I’ll be fine,” Steve promised, a promise he needed to stop making with all the stupid things he did. Natasha nearly forgave him, though, when she made it so easy to plant her bug by wrapping her in a hug. “I’m fine. I just need some time, okay?”

“Whatever you say, Rogers,” Natasha answered, though how tight she squeezed him belied the dismissive tone. 

Pulling back, she slipped the bug under his collar, knowing it would stick there even through a washing. Without another word or another smile, he’d left S.H.I.E.L.D.’s office in New York and headed to find Barnes. Natasha, of course, didn’t let him go alone.

Following Steve wasn’t as easy as people thought it would be, mostly because the man drove like he had a host of demons on his tail. Not that she was surprised, since he’d learned to drive during the Second World War. Steve couldn’t make it easy either, by using his own bike. He ‘borrowed’ one outside Little Italy, then doubled back so many times Natasha barely kept off his radar. 

When he ditched the ‘borrowed’ vehicle to ‘borrow’ another, she decided he was acting as paranoid as Barnes. Maybe they did deserve each other, but then again there _were_ people actually after both Barnes and Steve. She kept an eye out for a tail as well, but didn’t spot anyone as Steve drove out of New York all together and started heading north. 

Though he didn’t change vehicles again, Steve kept doubling back. His way of avoiding a tail was crude, if effective. And, it was also irritating as fuck; if there was a method to his insanity, she couldn’t see it. Thanks to that and his war-time driving, he did almost run into her twice, but there was no rhythm or rhyme to it. All it did was force Natasha to constantly change direction and find side streets to hide her car when Steve doubled back without warning. 

Hours later, in the middle of a light snowfall, they stopped at a small motel just off the highway in Nowhere, Maine. While Steve parked in the motel’s parking lot, Natasha pulled into the all night convenience store next door. She could see Steve through the window, and as she put an earbud in her ear, she’d be able to hear him. Hopefully he wouldn’t do anything too stupid and she’d be able to get there in time if Barnes, or someone else, tried to kill him. 

Except Steve didn’t immediately get out of his car. He sat there, fussing with the file from the sounds of paper shuffling in her ear. A minute passed, two, and Natasha walked to the counter to buy a soda. If Steve was going to waffle, she was going to enjoy a delicious Yoo-Hoo where no one would see her drink it.

The car door opened as she paid and Natasha returned to the window in time to see Steve shut his door, scowl at the weather, and head toward the motel. At the same time, Natasha caught movement on the roof and watched a black-clad figure climb up, over the edge and make a beeline for the back end of the motel. It didn’t take a genius to guess it was Barnes, though she pulled out her glasses, using the micro-camera embedded in the frame to zoom in and confirm.

Steve must have heard, because he abruptly shifted his weight, took a running leap as Natasha silently cursed. Catching at the motel’s roof, he hauled himself up and Natasha wished he’d let her in on this because she would have told him not to chase the traumatised super-soldier. Since she couldn’t say that, that was _exactly_ what Steve did.

“Bucky, wait!” Steve shouted and Natasha rolled her eyes.

Then she cringed when Barnes did stop, because she knew it wouldn’t be just to talk. You don't chase a predator and hope he won’t turn on you when cornered. Steve skidded to a stop, proving her right because it was due to Barnes raising a handgun in his direction. Both of Steve’s hands flew out to the side, one holding the folder, the other empty. Not even wearing gloves because Steve couldn’t dress properly without a keeper.

Barnes’ voice reached the hidden microphone on Steve from a distance, the sound perfect and clear. Tony’s toys packing mind-boggling amounts of technology for such a tiny thing, bring Barnes' grim, determined statement to her without any interference. It was a far different from the challenging, needling Omega who had infiltrated the Three Sisters with her. Apparently, Steve wasn’t the only one that had changed.

“You tell them, they want me, they lose you.” 

Hopefully finally realizing he could actually scare Barnes into a serious fight, Steve didn’t take a step forward.

“It’s just me,” Steve tried to assure, “There’s no they. I came alone and I tried to make sure no one could follow.”

So it wasn’t a planned meeting then. If Steve had helped Barnes escape, they hadn’t talked about meeting again, hadn’t set up a way for Steve to track Barnes down. He’d done that some other way, perhaps the same as Natasha? Like the first time she’d seen him ‘borrow’ a car, he did surprise her sometimes.

“You expect me to believe that,” Barnes scoffed, but despite that gruffness, the very fact that he was talking spoke volumes. Hydra, or Red Room, didn’t train their operatives to talk. They were trained to kill as soon as any opening was available. Steve was offering plenty of opening, but Barnes stayed his hand, and that spoke of control, and that he didn't _want_ to attack Steve at all. 

To say it was surprising, didn’t being to explain Natasha’s feelings.

“Let me prove it,” Steve insisted, all charming sincerity as he took a step forward. “Tell me how. It’s just,” he took yet another step and Natasha held her breath, praying he wasn’t about to be shot, “you left before your papers were processed. You don’t need them,” another step, “‘cause ’ve got a copy, and Tony has a copy, and Fury.” A step that didn’t end with Steve being shot. “Not that that means anything to you, but I thought you’d want one, too. So you don’t have to hide, or run, anymore.”

Natasha watched with bated breath as Barnes lowered his weapon. It was just an inch, not something the untrained would take as capitulation, but that’s what it was. Barnes had too much experience to break his weapons discipline so easily. That small movement meant he believed Steve. He actually believed Steve was telling the truth.

“Papers?” He questioned, his voice still gravelly, not betraying what he felt despite his belief.

“Your pardon,” Steve said wryly, aware as much as Natasha that Barnes was never convicted of any crime to be pardoned for. The fact was that the papers were legally binding, though, and they could very much mean a new life for Barnes. “Immunity, back pay if you want it, and whatever else you need to set up an I.D.” He waggled the folder still held high and chanced another step. “Here.”

Licking his lips, Barnes shifted, the muzzle of his gun lowering another inch.

“Put it down,” he commanded, “and back away.”

“Bucky,” Steve said, and for the first time, Natasha heard the desperation in his voice.

Immediately the gun was back up, pointed at Steve’s chest.

“Put it down and back away,” Barnes repeated.

For once, Steve had some sense as he dropped the folder into the snow and backed away with his hands in the air, patient and gentle with Barnes. It wasn’t a rare thing for Steve, but Natasha couldn’t shake the feeling that she was missing something obvious here.

Barnes eased forward, snatched the folder up, and backed to the edge of the roof to skim through it. Now he wasn’t aiming his gun at Steve, but the distance meant he could still aim and fire faster than Steve could reach him, especially as Steve didn't have his shield with him. Why they were in Maine of all damned places suddenly made sense, it was cold and snowy and Barnes was swaddled with clothes. The multiple layers and the gloves hid not only his metal arm, but also obscured his general features. A good choice of cover for a person of his size. 

Barnes skimmed the documents fast, probably only checking signatures and searching for keywords, not truly reading the whole thing. 

“Why?” Barnes asked, sounding confused of all things.

Natasha watched his body language, his face and saw only confusion there as well, with some wariness. Could it be that Barnes didn’t realise that Steve would rather die than let the injustice against Barnes stand a moment longer? Barnes still didn’t understand that he didn’t think along the same lines as they naturally did, and getting those papers had been his only choice.

Sure enough, Steve asked, “Why, what?” because _he_ didn’t realize he had to think like Natasha to understand Barnes.

Natasha stared, coming to the horrifying understanding that neither of them understood the other. At all.

Instead of clarifying, Barnes shook his head and asked, “What do I owe you for this?”

“You don’t _owe_ me anything!” Steve protested and Natasha barely held in a groan, hearing the hurt in his tone and knowing Barnes wouldn’t understand. It was the exactly response to lose Barnes; the man probably won't believe the air is free, much less a favor.

Barnes narrowed his eyes, his whole posture radiating suspicion.

“You must want something,” Barnes pressed 

Steve _flinched_. 

Whatever he thought, whatever it was that made him flinch that way, it made Barnes’ defenses raise once more. The best thing Steve could do would be to back away now, back off and let Barnes cool off alone.

Of course, Steve didn’t back off.

“I want plenty of things, doesn’t mean I get them,” he dropped his hands from the air, shoving them through his hair, “You don’t…owe me. You never owed me anything. Is that… This whole time, you thought I wanted something?” 

Indecision flitted across Barnes’ face. He opened his mouth to snap something and actually bit it back. Natasha blinked, shocked that he had enough empathy to actually censor himself. It wasn’t the first time he had for Steve, though.

“We all want things,” Barnes said finally, “It’s just that sometimes what we want aligns.”

It was Natasha’s turn to flinch, since there was no one to see her do it anyway. She wondered what must have happened in that mating room to have Barnes admit that kind of sentiment. It must have been so much more than just sex. Yet, Steve wouldn’t hear it as such, not in the context of favors and wanting things from each other. Barnes had told Steve that, whatever it was, had been nothing more than them using each other.

Morons.

Steve’s head bobbed, eyes on the snow covering the roof like an idiot, whole body radiating dejection and defeat. 

“Okay, um,” both Steve’s hands shoved into his pockets, “then I guess that’s that.”

They both remained still, frozen in that moment of stupidity. Steve staring at Barnes’ feet and Barnes staring at Steve’s…lips? Natasha checked her lines of sight and yes, definitely Steve’s lips. He also licked his own, an unconscious expression of desire. Unfortunately, Steve was too busy ignoring Barnes to notice, not that she was sure he would have if he was paying attention, but ignoring Barnes had never ended well. 

True to her prediction, the moment Steve raised his head Barnes bared his teeth at him, his whole body language changing from baffled confusion at Steve’s reaction, to challenge.

“If this,” Barnes raised the folder to wave at Steve, “is really a no strings attached offer, then prove it.” 

Natasha wanted to bang her head against the glass. This was such a step back it wasn’t even funny. At the beginning of the encounter, Barnes had been wary, but surprisingly willing to listen. Now he was closed down and angry again. The most irritating thing was that Steve didn't notice the difference, if his body language was to be believed.

“What do you want me to do?” Steve asked, the desperation gone from his voice. Defeated, still, but holding onto some shred of hope, or maybe just unwilling to back down.

“Leave,” Barnes demanded, needing to take control of a situation he already had all the control in. 

The word hit Steve like a slap, one hand pulling from his pocket as if to ward off another. Then the hand pressed to his chest, over his heart, and she finally understood. Steve would agree, he’d walk away, and it was tearing him apart because what she’d missed was certainly more significant than sex. They’d bonded.

And Barnes was telling Steve to leave. Turning from the scene, Natasha walked back to the clerk and purchased a lighter and a pack of cigarettes. Steve was going to want them. He would probably want more than cigarettes, but buying him alcohol when it didn’t really affect him would just be a waste of money.

“Okay,” she heard, as the clerk rang up her purchase. 

The thump of Steve’s boots walked her back to the door where she watched both men jump off opposite ends of the motel’s roof. As Steve walked to his ‘borrowed’ car, she hurried over, tapping on the passenger window. She’d have a junior S.H.I.E.L.D. agent pick up her own ride later.

“You heard,” Steve said resignedly, unlocking the door for her.

Natasha bundled herself into the car and slammed the door behind her. She could stand the cold if she had to, but she didn’t enjoy it at all.

“You think I would let you go off alone after a potentially homicidal super-soldier?” she said, teasing because she knew he was hurting. Then she offered the pack of cigarettes. “Here.”

He looked at the pack for a long moment, as if it held secrets of the whole universe, before slowly reaching for it.

“Thank you,” he said and Natasha knew he meant more than just for the cigarettes.

“That’s what family’s for,” Natasha said quietly. 

Taking the lighter, he lit up and inhaled deeply. Then he started the car, leaving like he’d said he would. How much, she wondered, did it hurt? It had only been a few days, and for her, it had always been painful for the first week.

“Steve,” she said hesitantly, once they were moving, but not sure of her welcome for once. Not when this particular topic was taken up. “Barnes… he’s damaged...”

“I know,” Steve snapped, cutting her off, “I know what he went through.”

“I’m not talking about the torture,” Natasha said gently. “The things he had to do… The things he did… He might not have had a choice, but it was still his hands that did it. His hands that pulled the trigger, his memories, his nightmares.”

“What’s your point, Nat?” he demanded, still hard, unyielding.

“To do things like that… It changes you. It kills parts of you, parts you never recover again. He will never act the way you want him - need him to be. He won’t give you what you need, not the way you want it, Steve. He isn’t capable of it.”

Without warning, Steve’s hand darted between them and engulfed hers, squeezing so tight it was on the edge of painful.

“Stop,” he said hoarsely.

“I think you need to hear it,” Natasha continued firmly.

“No, Nat, you need to stop. You might be like him, but you’re not him, and what you’re saying… Maybe, maybe he can’t, but I’m not going to find out if I’m never given a chance.”

“Let me finish,” she asked gently. “He and I _are_ different. I was a spy and I killed in the course of my duties. His only purpose was to kill and torture, to terrify. Still, there is empathy in him; more personality and humanity than I would have expected from anyone denied agency for so long. My point is, if he managed to keep hold of so much of himself, in time he’ll stop running.”

“I’m not chasing, Nat,” Steve sighed, his grip loosening on her hand.

Natasha snorted.

“How many seminars about body language and tells did I take you to?” Natasha asked.

“Uh,” Steve flushed, “You know I’m terrible at that. It’s all so analytic and removed and I just… I get too much in the moment to remember to look for all those things.” 

Chuckling, Natasha shook her head as Steve tried to defend himself. He wasn’t lying, he did get too invested in listening, or speaking, but it wasn’t the whole truth. When he trusted someone, when he cared for them, deep down Steve believed that they were telling the truth. Then, there was no need to verify it.

“When Barnes said that sometimes desires align, what do you think he meant?”

Steve’s voice was dull as he answered, “He was using me because he thought I was using him.”

Releasing her hand, he shifted gears, then surprisingly picked it up again. Natasha curled their fingers together, enjoying the contact as much because of the comfort he was seeking as because she had missed it.

“He literally admitted he wanted you and absolved you of any responsibility for his choices. He tried to comfort you, you oaf.” 

Natasha bit her tongue, regretting the outburst at the end. Raising his shoulder as if he expected her to smack him, he glanced her way and back at the road as ash dripped from his fingers. 

“How is that comforting? He thought I was using him, so… Explain.”

“No, you thought he thought you were using him. It was your guilt, just yours. Barnes tried to take away that guilt, and he definitely wasn’t blaming you for anything.”

“It’s like you two are speaking a foreign language,” Steve complained, frowning. “Then…” He took his only free hand off the steering wheel to run through his hair. “Why did he ask me to leave? And why did you say he can’t give me what I need?”

Natasha sighed.

“First, he gave you an opening you didn’t take. Which he probably perceived as rejection, as I don’t think he gives many openings to people in general. Alphas never.”

“Opening? When? He kept me at gunpoint most of the time.”

Natasha smiled at him, all sweet and a little toothy.

“He didn’t shoot.”

Steve rolled his eyes so hard, she thought they might fall out of his head and put the cigarette between his lips.

“Well, shucks, guess I should have tried to sleep with all sorts of people if _that’s_ an opening.”

“I shot Clint the first time I met him. And the second,” Natasha admitted.

“I thought you told me you liked him from the moment you met him?” Steve asked, confused once more.

Natasha smiled softly and nodded.

“Which is why I never aimed to kill him.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Steve grumbled, “No, I’ll never understand either of you.” He squeezed the steering wheel so it groaned, but not her hand. “And your advice, spy-whisperer?”

“Wait,” she said, “He’ll come around.”

“How long am I supposed to wait for, Nat?”

“That depends on how much you want him, I guess.”

Steve sighed again.

“And you think I should wait?”

“Either wait, or let go. No middle ground with this one.”

“It ain’t that easy, you know,” Steve mumbled, rubbing at his chest and again taking his hand off the wheel. When he lifted it, it was to pull the cigarette from between his lips. Only then did he take control of the vehicle again.

“It will be, once the bond is gone.”

Steve nodded and Natasha bit her lip. He looked sadder than she remembered him looking in a long time. Almost like he’d just come out of the ice again.

“So you’re not waiting?”

Lifting the cigarette back to his mouth, he said around it, “I don’t know yet. I want him, I’ve never wanted anyone more, but… At some point, I gotta decide if he’s good for me.” Steve snorted, looking briefly like a dragon as smoke poured from his nose. “That’s what everyone keeps telling me, isn’t it? To take care of myself? Nobody takes me apart like Bucky does.”

“Well, at least you’re finally learning to give your own well-being some importance.”

Steve laughed, squeezing her hand and letting go. In a way, she was relieved as he could now smoke without getting them killed. Turning up the heater, she curled into her seat and wondered if Barnes would come back and if it would be a good thing if he actually did.

\----

Sam wasn’t sure who had decided he was Steve’s minder. Had the team collectively gotten together and decided, since Steve wasn’t mated, he had to deal with Steve’s moods? Or was it an unconscious decision to leave the care and minding of one Steven Grant Rogers in his hands? Privately, Sam leaned toward the former, especially after riding the elevator to the common room and finding Steve’s entire pack waiting for him.

That the situation was serious was apparent simply because Natasha was leading the meeting. Sam listened as Natasha explained about James Barnes, that he’d left, and how Steve had been depressed ever since. Tony, Natasha, Clint, and even Pepper wanted Sam to fix it. As if he even knew how to. It’s like they thought he was made of magic and could solve problems like a fairy godmother.

It hadn’t taken much persuasion for Sam to agree. He had noticed Steve’s melancholy, but unlike the others, he thought Steve should come to them for help if and when he wanted it. At the same time, Sam knew if they’d gotten together for a meeting and he didn’t talk to Steve, they would. That would only upset Steve more and put him on the defensive, neither conducive to healing whatever emotional wound their Alpha suffered from.

JARVIS had pointed Sam to the roof when asked where Steve was, which was a bad sign in itself. The roof meant Steve was smoking, something he only ever did when stressed. When Sam got there, sure enough, Steve was leaning against the roof’s north wall, a cigarette in his left hand, khakis blending into the concrete, his navy button up merging with the sky. The end of his cigarette lit his face with a soft, red light as he inhaled and left it in shadow as Steve breathed out, smoke ringing his head.

“Bad day, huh?” Sam called, feet crunching over the gravel as he walked through the chill New York air to lean on the wall on Steve’s right.

“He’s over there,” Steve answered, pointing with the cigarette butt out at the city. “That way. Miles away, but if I go that way, I’ll find him.”

The implication of the words settled slowly into Sam’s mind and he couldn’t quite believe that he was interpreting them correctly.

“Who?” Sam asked, already dreading the answer.

“Bucky,” Steve said quietly, his eyes fluttering closed so his lashes brushed his cheeks. Then he took another drag of his cigarette and stared out at the city lights once more. “That way.”

“Jesus, Steve,” Sam breathed out. “You bonded with the guy?”

Ducking his head, Steve stubbed the remains of his smoke out on the ledge.

“Didn’t mean to,” he declared. “Promised not to bite him and I didn’t. Bond’s still there. Not that,” Steve sucked in a sharp breath, “Not that I can feel him more than this. He’s…over there.”

“It’s damaged,” Sam clarified, feeling numb.

Steve just nodded, crushing the ash and filter until the breeze blew away the remains.

“The doctors said I might never be able to form one; the fevers, you know? Thought… Thought the serum would fix it, but…”

“It’s damaged,” Sam said again, numbness fading to nausea. “Why haven’t you gone to him?”

Closing his eyes, Steve hugged his arms about his chest and curled into himself.

“He left, Sam,” Steve said, voice just above a whisper, “We bonded and it’s damaged so he didn’t notice, but he wanted to get away enough to leave. Not even a goodbye.” Steve tilted his head to look over the city, faint lights illuminating his face, casting shadows, and making him look like a stranger full of dark places and regrets. “Pathetic as I am, I still went after him. Gave him his papers, the ‘pardon’, and he just… He wanted me to leave. So, here I am and he’s over there.”

Sam blew out a breath, realizing Steve wasn’t lighting up again and guessing it was for his benefit.

Shaking his head, Sam said, “Don’t hold back on my account. Makes you feel better, well, not much else is gonna right now. Not until the bond fades.”

Sam knew better than to suggest Steve break it by forming another.

“I thought it meant something, Sam,” Steve murmured, but at least he was lighting another cigarette. “That maybe he wanted… I dunno, _more_. We’re compatible, but.” Steve closed his eyes and took a deep, if shakey, pull on his cigarette. “All it was was sex. Really good sex.”

“Steve,” Sam hesitated, “I’m not sure I should say, if he’s rejecting your bond, but…”

“Spit it out, Sam,” Steve said with a faint, distant smile, “Not like you to hold back.”

“Not like you to need sex ed,” Sam threw back. “I’m guessing you figured out it’s a myth that bonds can only form from biting. The permanent bonds, yes; both partners have to bite each other. The temporary one? It’s got nothing to do with biting, except you Alphas do that a lot during sex.”

Steve snorted, doing his impression of a dragon once more.

“Hurts. Biting makes it stop.”

Sam gave his friend a sympathetic look. Being a Beta, he was lucky not to have ever experienced the pain that came along with being an Alpha or an Omega during their mating cycles. As much as it was about desire, a lot of it was about ending the pain their bodies were going through. 

“A decade or two ago, it was discovered that an Alpha can form a temporary bond with their partner without biting if certain conditions are met.”

“What conditions?”

Sam shifted uncomfortably.

“Knotting has to occur, and the hormone levels in the Omega, serotonin and endorphins are the main ones. They are most commonly associated with having…feelings for somebody.”

The look Steve shot at him was sharp.

“You’re telling me, Bucky _had feelings_ for the people who raped him?”

“No,” Sam said quickly, resisting the urge to release calming pheromones with an Alpha as powerful as Steve glaring at him, “A bite from an Alpha ensures a temporary bond. What I’m saying is, it can still happen when the Alpha doesn’t bite.”

“Spell it out for me, Sam,” Steve demanded.

“I’m saying,” Sam said, taking a deep breath, “that he had to have feelings for you..”

Steve snorted with disbelief.

“I don’t know a lot about the guy,” Sam admitted and continued doggedly, “but he did stay with you at the hospital of his own free will. If he’s rejecting the bond now, he might have reasons, but at the time…”

Looking back into the distance, Steve took another pull of his cigarette. The end bloomed red in the dark, lighting his face and then filling it with shadows once more. He still wasn’t certain he had done the right thing, telling Steve that. Yet at the same time, he couldn’t imagine anyone Steve was compatible with could be all that terrible. Damaged, sure, just look at Tony. But a bad person? Sam couldn’t see it.

“Nat thinks I should wait for him,” Steve murmured when the cigarette was gone and he had to light another. When he went inside, Sam would send someone out for a carton if they hadn’t gone already.

“Maybe she’s right,” Sam conceded, “I didn’t meet the dude, but… Steve, you gotta do right by you, too. This? This ain’t right. I’m really worried about you, and I’m not the only one. It’s not like you were in the best place, mentally, to begin with.”

Steve’s smile was fleeting.

“I’m not going to jump off the building, Sam.”

“Not this building, maybe,” Sam grumbled.

Nudging his shoulder, Steve tore his eyes from the skyline to meet Sam’s.

“Didn’t you hear?” he asked, trying for cheer and failing hard enough it made Sam’s heart hurt with sympathy. “I’m going on vacation, soon as we finish with our current project.”

Though Natasha and Tony had wanted Sam to fix this, he knew there was nothing he could do for Steve. If he wouldn’t go to James Barnes again, Sam couldn’t make him. All he could do was lean on the wall and stare at the night in the direction the Omega must be and let Steve know he wasn’t alone.

“Fill me in on the plan, then.”

\----

Brian Killian had worked at the Six Fine Irishmen since he was old enough to mix drinks. Passed down from his father, and his father before him, the Killians had been in Boston since the Revolution. The Six Fine Irishmen had stood through Prohibition, mob wars, and, while it wasn’t thriving, it was going steadily into the new millennium. 

Brian had met all kinds of people while tending bar, mobsters, cops, soldiers, and their like. Being a Beta made it easy to get along with most, and keep conflicts from escalating. Unlike Alphas and Omegas, his designation didn’t take part in the conflicting dynamics. Unlike the Omega sitting at his bar. Not that anyone, Alpha or otherwise, had been willing to take a seat near his seat, the one that had been installed in 1946. The stools sat empty to each side, the booth behind the Omega even sat empty when it was a favorite, thanks to the clear view of the only television in the bar. The man smelled as if he was about to go into heat. Brian had almost cut his fingers off while slicing the lemons when he smelled. 

The Omega had long, dark hair; a bold statement in this part of town, but his sheer bulk would make people think twice before jeering. It didn’t matter that he was an Omega, though that was a rare sight, what mattered was that fucking with him would end badly for anyone. He wore a black leather jacket, dark jeans, and heavy steel-toed boots. He sat on his stool with the unthinking arrogance of a fighter, a man unafraid of conflict and confident he could win any fight. A troublemaker, but the kind that left his opponents dead, rather than just beaten. There was a cold arrogance to him, one Brian had seen in those capable of cruelty. It was his eyes that caught his attention the most, though. They were grey, cold and flat. The eyes of a man that had seen horrible things, had done horrible things. 

When Brian finally locked his eyes with the Omega, the man had smiled, low and cruel. He tilted his head back, exposing his neck, tendons straining. Something in Brian shifted, wary of the easy show of submission. The bared throat didn’t feel right on a man this sure of himself, this dangerous. Brian knew, deep in his bones, that it was wrong, a trap, or a rouse.

It was like the man _wanted_ trouble.

It was the middle of the day, the slowest time for the business, so it wasn’t like there were many people to avoid the Omega, as most were still at work. It wouldn’t pick up until five or six, and Brian hoped his silent customer would be gone before then. When people started to drink and yap their faces off, he didn’t want this stranger and his palpable aura of danger anywhere near. It just wasn’t good for business.

Asking him to leave, though, that seemed bad for his health. Not for the first time, Brian eyed the way the man’s jacket stretched over his broad shoulders and watched how he kept glancing at the the reflection in the mirrors behind the bar to watch the few other patrons. He never took off his jacket, even though the bar was warm, and he had been steadily drinking for a while now. Whiskey, neat, and not the good stuff.

As Brian turned from wiping down his counters and dusting the rows of booze behind the bar, the stranger finally spoke, the first time since placing his order.

“Turn that up, will ya?” he asked, his grey eyes focused on the television on the other end of the bar. 

Glancing up at the flat screen, Brian frowned. Captain America was standing trial again, and while that mattered to the Killians, it didn’t matter to many other people. That’s why Brian had kept the volume so low, so he didn’t bother the other patrons and get a request to change it. He sure as hell hadn’t expected one of them to care enough to want to hear.

There were few other people loitering at the bar, so Brian reached for the remote. Fuck it; if anybody objected, it wouldn’t be him they would need to deal with. He ramped the volume from five to twenty, just in time for the camera to pan back to Captain Rogers, his legal team, and the Avengers that had accompanied him to the Congressional hearing, or the railroading, as Brian privately liked to think of it. 

“They look exhausted,” the stranger muttered.

Shooting the stranger a glance, he squinted at the flat screen and had to agree. Dark circles rimmed the eyes of the Black Widow, the Falcon, Hawkeye and that Tony Stark. Only Captain Rogers and the legal team seemed immune, though the former’s uniform wasn’t nearly as pressed and neat as he usually wore it. Minor details, sure, but one Brian didn’t think many would catch. His esteem for the stranger climbed a notch.

“They looked like that yesterday, too,” Brian said.

Dark grey eyes darted to him, then back to the flat screen as Captain Rogers leaned forward to the microphone.

“Should I be considered a lethal weapon?” Captain Roger’s voice was steady and clear even in the crappy speakers of the cheap TV. “I don’t believe the question is relevant, Congressman. The question before the panel, again, is whether or not the general has the legal right to treat me the same as a lab animal, as property, and no, I don’t think he does.” 

“Damn right, he doesn’t,” Brian grumbled. 

“Additionally, the serum itself is not a weapon, as my lawyers took pains to prove.” The Captain smiled, a small thing that made Brian grin even when he didn’t know what was coming. “If you insist I answer: not any more than any other Special Forces officer. I serve my country to the best of my ability, and my orders do not include becoming a slave to any man or organization. I am grateful, however, that the serum has given me a position where I am allowed a trial to determine that, instead of merely being pressed into servitude.”

Brian hadn’t a clue what the Captain meant by that, but neither, it seemed, did the the Congressmen and women on the panel.

“Exactly what do you mean by that, Captain?” the Congresswoman from Ohio asked evenly. She had a pinched face that made her look like she was biting into a lemon, but she had given Ross’ lawyers and expert witnesses just enough rope to hang themselves during her cross.

“Just what I said, ma’am,” Captain Rogers said calmly, “that there are men and women in this country who have been imprisoned and enslaved without the luxury of a trial such as this.”

The murmur of the spectators at the hearing was loud enough to briefly drown any other sound, until the Congressman that had asked Captain Rogers the original question shouted for silence, or they would be removed. 

“Captain, if you think that speculation and hearsay will get you out of…”

“Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, of the 107th” Captain Rogers said in a strong, clear voice, cutting the Congressman off as he stood, taking the file the Black Widow passed him and holding into the air. “An American POW captured and tortured during WWII, enhanced by the serum General Ross desperately wants to reproduce, held for years without trial in conditions violating his basic human rights because he wouldn’t agree to being bond-controlled, and used the same way his captors had.”

Captain Rogers picked up another file.

“Dr. Victor Samuel Clarkson, caught red-handed experimenting on humans, but was not given a trial. Instead he was transported back to U.S. soil, along with his wife and child, who were then separated and held captive to force him to continue the same research for our military.”

The sound of glass shattering stole Brian’s attention from whoever was contained in the next folder Captain Rogers was being handed. The remnants of the stranger’s whisky spilled over the old, scarred wood of the bar, soaking leather gloves. The Omega’s pale eyes were focused on the flat screen with stunning ferocity, completely ignoring the mess and shards of glass from where he’d dropped his drink.

“You okay?” Brian asked carefully, now afraid his customer was going to have an episode at any moment.

The Omega didn't acknowledge him, staring intently at the T.V.

Captain Rogers laid the last file upon the stack, bringing the count to four, to his left and motioned to them with one hand. 

“S.H.I.E.L.D. has worked tirelessly to gather this information and will be happy to give everyone copies if they’d like them. Needless to say, I am not dealing in hearsay, or speculation, and I have every reason to suspect mine will be the next folder to join this pile which, I assure you, is not complete.” The Captain paused, a perfect moment, before adding, “Yet.”

Brian was smart enough to know that single word was a threat, though who Captain Rogers was threatening was beyond him. After all, he was just a barman.

The stranger inhaled loudly, the sound whistling in the fairly quiet bar. Brian cast a wary glance back at the Omega and saw he wasn’t sitting any more, but standing, palms flat on the wood grain amidst the whiskey. His long hair fell in front of his face, but he didn't seem to notice it at all as he stood frozen, staring at the screen with his mouth hanging open. Whatever Roger’s meant, the guy obviously understood it.

The Congresswoman from Ohio - what was her name again? - cleared her throat in the ensuing silence. 

“I assure you, Captain Rogers, no one here will allow your freedom to be taken from you. And, if the information you’ve provided proves valid, justice will be mediated, no matter who,” the woman’s pinched face turned to General Ross and she glared at him above her half-moon spectacles, “is behind the injustices. Unless my colleagues disagree, I believe we are done here.”

“Jesus,” the Omega said as the picture switched a reporter, his voice rough and out of breath. “That man’s insane.”

Brian narrowed his eyes, trying to keep his temper at bay with someone as dangerous as the stranger.

“Listen fella,” he said, “dunno who you are, but around here you don’t disrespect Captain Rogers. Kindly, mind your tone.”

The man looked him in the eye then and smiled, a wide, crooked smile that slowly stretched his lips and made Brian take a careful step sideways to be closer to the baseball bat he had hidden behind the counter. He wasn’t the only one. The regulars shifted, most spoiling for a fight because they were too drunk to have any sense. 

The Omega cast a quick look around and the smile stretched even more, and dammit all to hell, Brian knew that look, saw it on many a troublemaker’s face. He was spoiling for a fight even more than the drunk patrons. Polite tone, threat of police, not much was going to stop what was about to happen. He might as well have insulted him to his face.

“The idiot’s going to get himself killed or disappeared,” the Omega said tossing the rest of his drink back in a quick, sharp movement. Then he pulled his gloves off, revealing one flesh hand and one…made of metal? Brian blinked at the hand that moved with unsettling fluidity, mimicking flesh and blood appendage with eerie exactness. It was not just a simple prosthetic. 

Swallowing, Brian knew he had to try talking, even if it was futile.

“Be that as it may, ain’t gonna be stood for by any full-blooded Irishman. Man’s a hero. First Irish American to be somebody. Told people we aren’t all drunks and no-goods. That we’ll stand for something,” he pointed at the television while his other hand closed over the bat, “for something good, even if they do threaten to disappear us. So, you wanna start something over that, fine. We stand with the Captain, alive, dead, or in the hospital.”

The patrons in the bar murmured their assent, though not as loud as the evening crowd would have. Glancing at the mess on the bar, the Omega reached behind and scooped up the rag Brian had been cleaning with. The tension in the room drained as he mopped up the spill, then took a seat to the left. Brian didn’t let go of the bat, but he thought maybe they weren’t about to have a brawl that did land them in the hospital.

Then the Omega surprised Brian even further.

“Tell me about him,” he said simply.

Hesitating, Brian let go of the bat. He put a fresh glass in front of the Omega, topped it with whiskey, and started telling the same stories his ma and pa had told him growing up.

\----

“You want me to take a dancing class with you?” Pepper repeated.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t heard Steve the first time, it was just that she needed to be sure that’s what he’d asked. Ballroom dancing wasn’t exactly an activity she expected of Steve. Running with Sam, yoga with Bruce, painting, those were the activities she thought of when she thought of Steve. Not…dancing.

Looking almost shy, Steve pushed a hand through his hair.

“I promised to pick up a new hobby and stick with it,” he explained, as if Tony wouldn’t have informed her of this, “I figure, that means I need to try a few things until something sticks. Thing is, the dancing class wants me to bring a partner.”

Pepper smiled, folding her hands before her, the empty one over the one holding her cellphone. Though her instincts had told her to chase him off when they’d met, she’d quickly found he was a gentle giant. No threat to her, or, most surprisingly, her bond with Tony. Though he protected her Omega as his own, he would never lay claim. If Tony had been anyone else but Iron Man, Pepper probably still would have chased Steve away, but the fact was, she needed help keeping Tony safe, and Steve had never let her down.

“And you couldn’t have told me this before the night of the first class?” Pepper asked, letting only a little bit of teasing into her cool tone.

Unsurprisingly, Steve ducked his head as if she’d been properly scolding him.

“I didn’t really read the confirmation email until a few minutes ago.”

And wasn't that so like Steve.

“Give me a minute to get ready,” Pepper answered, letting him off the hook. “I can’t dance in a pencil skirt.”

Steve’s head came up immediately, smiling winningly at her. That smile made her acceptance even easier than it had been, and it had been no trouble deciding. After Steve had lost his Omega, he had smiled so rarely. Not that she could blame him. The pack - it still shocked her sometimes to realize how easy and right it felt to be a part of one - had tried to force him to cheer up, tried to distract him, but she knew there could be no distraction from a rejected bond. When the one you were made to protect, to cherish and care for wanted nothing to do with you, there was no easy acceptance.

“Last time Natasha tried to fight in one,” Steve said, “she had to split the side practically to her hip.”

Pepper frowned.

“So that’s how my Altuzara was ripped. She wouldn’t say.”

Wincing, Steve looked abruptly sheepish once more. It was adorable how such a large man could look so small at the blink of an eye.

“It was a national emergency…”

“It always is,” Pepper said with a small smile. “You’ll just have to go shopping with me. Or I could let Natasha know you spilled the beans…?”

Steve huffed, crossing his arms. 

“What kind of threat is that? I like shopping with you. Next week?”

“Make it Friday. That’s three days from now,” she added teasingly as she walked into her Omega’s and her walk-in closet, “if you’ve managed to forget the day as well as needing a date tonight.”

“A date?” Tony’s voice interrupted, having apparently chosen that moment to leave his workshop. “Steve, are you trying to steal my Alpha?”

“Not only did she agree to go on a date with me, she blackmailed me into another,” Steve answered, the cadence of his voice changing the way it always did with Tony. Warmer, a little more accented, and far more teasing than he was with anyone else. “I think it’s safe to say, she’s already stolen.”

“Steve! You dog,” Tony cried, exuberant that Steve was willing to verbally spar with him. The situation with Sergeant Barnes had left Tony depressed, since Steve had been avoiding touching anyone who wasn’t his bonded for several days already, and it was driving every single person in Steve’s pack bonkers. Pepper still couldn’t believe there even _was_ a pack. “Pepper, darling, say it isn’t so.”

“He has better fashion sense than you, Tony,” Pepper called, slipping out of her work skirt and into a black and red, drape-front Atlein that hugged her hips and would allow easy movement of her legs, “and you never invite me dancing.”

“Dancing?” Tony repeated, disbelief dripping from his words. “You two are going dancing.”

“I thought it would be nice,” Steve said, his tone abruptly defensive, “and you all made me promise to find new hobbies.”

“Yes, Steven,” Tony said sharply, “but not hobbies inspired by the man you’ve been moping over for weeks.”

“It’s not inspired by - I’m not moping.”

“It’s swing dancing, isn’t it?” Tony demanded. “You’re taking a swing dance class because that’s what Barnes liked to do way back in the day when the man was still a man, not a puppet without a heart.”

Taking a breath, Pepper exited the closet to find her bondmate in Steve’s space. The Alpha had crossed his arms, glaring at her much shorter Omega. Though Tony was furious, and Steve creeping closer to anger, they were still touching. Tony’s ankle pressed against Steve’s as he leaned in attempt at casualness against the wall. Of everyone in the pack, it was Tony who Steve touched the most, and as always she had to clamp a tight lid on her jealousy.

“I’ve wanted to learn how to dance since I was fourteen,” Steve shot back, “So Bucky reminded me of that. That means I should just forget about it?”

“You should forget about _him_ ,” Tony snapped, poking Steve in the chest hard enough the Alpha caught his wrist. The touch, though, soothed some of her Omega’s rough edges. “Steve, you’re just hurting yourself.”

“It’s not…” Steve started.

“Tony,” Pepper said firmly, “stay out of it.”

“But he’s hurting himself over that piece of shit!” Tony appealed to her, gesticulating wildly, obviously agitated. He didn’t notice the way Steve’s eyes flashed, but she did, and quickly stepped forward to yank Tony out of the Alpha’s grip. When Tony didn’t come easy, she knew she’d made the right choice.

“Don’t you call him that,” Steve growled.

Tony stared up at Steve, mouth hanging open in shock.

“He doesn't have a choice in the matter,” Pepper snapped, twisting so she was between Steve and her Omega, her tone serious enough it penetrated Tony’s ire and surprise. Gently, she touched his face, her hand covering where Steve’s hand gripped his wrist as she gentled her tone. “Like I wouldn’t if you left. So, if Steve wants to go dancing, we’ll go dancing.”

“But,” Tony started.

Both Pepper and Steve growled at once, and Tony bodily shuddered, ducking his head.

“Listen to your Alphas,” she said sharply, “for once. Besides,” she kissed his forehead, stepping aside once more, “just because you’re compatible with him, doesn’t mean you know what’s best.”

The way both Steve and Tony flushed a brilliant red, the latter stuttering and fumbling over his words, made saving that tidbit of information worth it. Really, how could they think she wouldn’t find out? She wasn’t stupid.

“How, um,” Steve cleared his throat. “Sorry, Pepper. I should have told you.”

“You’re both forgiven,” Pepper said smoothly, “but yes, you should have. If you were anyone but my Alpha, we’d have had…conflict over the matter. Now, hug Tony, and let’s get on our way.”

“Hug Tony?” Steve repeated, glancing at her Omega.

Pepper huffed, folding her hands together above her waist.

“Steve,” she said gently, “your bond is keeping you from touching anyone that isn’t Sergeant Barnes. I understand that, it feels strange when you touch another’s skin, but your pack still needs you. And,” she added more forcefully, “Tony is making me crazy. Hug him, and let’s go.”

Though he was trying not to laugh, Steve did as she ordered, pulling Tony into a hug.

“She’s too good for you,” he muttered, not quite quietly enough for her not to hear.

Tony grinned.

“Yeah, she is.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early Christmas present from us to all you lovely readers. Here, have two updates in a row :D

Bucky shifted on his perch at the corner of the long bar he had claimed an hour ago. He was drinking one of the fruitiest, girliest drinks they had since alcohol didn’t do anything for him. After the whiskey, if he was going to drink, he’d ensure it tasted good, and he liked the sugary drinks. It didn’t hurt that his body was always looking for more sources of calories and naturally pushing him towards the sweeter things. The lime green concoction had the added benefit of drawing the eye of every Alpha in the place.

It was a predominantly Alpha bar, his presence alone causing angry murmurs he could hear beneath the thumping music. They didn’t want an Omega here, not in their space. They complained they couldn’t relax with him present, couldn’t look away, could smell him. All the same, really: they couldn’t control themselves and were blaming him for it.

Bucky’s skin was heated, his temper even more so, and he thought that a proper brawl would be exactly what he needed. There were no takers, though, the Alphas keeping to their tables and content with complaining. Not one of them had balls enough to say anything to his face. Wimps.

After draining the last of his drink, Bucky started on the salted nuts just as, finally, somebody approached him. They were light on their feet, but not trained. It made the delicacy all the more curious. Alphas tended to stomp around without training, throwing their weight at the world. Like they were somehow more if the world couldn’t help but take account of them.

Bucky raised his eyes to look into the mirrored shelf behind the bar, watching without letting the man know he was under observation. The man, the Alpha if Bucky’s nose wasn’t failing him, was a lithe, blond wisp of a thing. Maybe half his size, but still tall. He had slightly curling hair that fell down past his ears and framed his face attractively. Glasses, simple wire things, perched on his nose, and a half-smile curled his lips. Dressed in a simple grey, long-sleeved shirt and dark jeans, he looked ordinary, if attractive. The two drinks in his hands indicated something other than a desire to fight, as did the smile in his light blue eyes.

Stopping at Bucky’s left, he sat down on the stool beside him, his legs briefly brushing Bucky’s as he settled.

“Wow,” the guy said, “you are definitely the grumpiest patron in this bar.” He shot Bucky a crooked smile, the light glinting off the silver stud in his ear. “Here,” he offered, pushing the pinker of the two drinks across the bar. “Have a drink before you make me depressed.”

Bucky snorted against his will and turned to face the Alpha. He smelled nice, like grass, and something chemical. Maybe paint. Bucky watched the man’s nostrils flare, taking in Bucky’s scent and the high level of hormones his body produced. From the way he leaned forward, he didn’t find anything objectionable in it. Then again, Alphas never did.

“That’s a unique way to start a conversation,” Bucky said, but he did reach for the pink concoction. He waited for one of the hundred typical comments about Omegas, or heat, that would follow. Maybe it would be enough to start the fight he needed. Anything, really, to stop the sharp itching under his skin, that sense that everything was wrong.

“Oh,” the Alpha winked at him, “second I saw an Omega more butch than half the Alphas in the bar put together, I knew what was brewing here. No use wasting good pickup lines on someone looking for a fight.”

There was that little curl at the Alpha’s lips again, wry and amused and so sure of himself. It was irritating, but familiar too. Oddly, it made that itch under Bucky’s skin subside.

“You think I’m here to start a fight?” Bucky asked, taking the offered drink and draining half in a swallow.

The man smiled at him and sprawled over the bar, bracing one elbow on the polished wood and resting his chin on the palm. Offering his entire focus to Bucky. The itch subsided even further, and Bucky found himself half-turning on his stool, watching the smaller man with focus of his own.

“Yep.” He popped the ‘p’ at the end, and smiled. He had a very nice smile. “You smell like a bakery, but look like a dense, packed thundercloud.” He smirked. “From the other side of the room I thought you were an Alpha, actually.” Bucky couldn’t help but be amused. “Imagine my surprise when I got close enough to catch your scent.”

Bucky looked at the half-finished pink drink with pieces of fruit stuck to the side of the glass.

“And you decided to bring the supposed Alpha a pink drink with… What the hell is that anyway?” he asked, pulling one of the star-shaped slices and popping it into his mouth, chewing it thoughtfully. It tasted delicious. Sweet, like a cross between a lemon and an apple.

“Carambola, or more commonly called starfruit,” the blond Alpha grinned, showing a flash of white teeth, chin still firmly resting on the palm on his braced hand. “And I might have been looking to… tease an Alpha, too.”

Bucky couldn’t help it, he threw his head back and laughed. The Alpha looked like a cat that got the canary while he watched Bucky’s reaction.

“Are you suicidal?” Bucky gestured, indicating the general population of the bar patrons, mostly bikers and guys that could probably bench press this guy.

“I can take care of myself,” the Alpha snorted. He turned to Bucky, stretching one of his long legs to show it to Bucky. Dark adidas, worn and comfortable, perched on his foot. It was a fairly muscular leg, but very lithe. “I can drop kick like a boss, look at these legs!”

Bucky looked, still chuckling.

“You’re trouble, aren't you?”

The Alpha laughed, shaking his head, his blond curls falling in front of his glasses.

“Did you just seriously called _me_ trouble?”

Bucky wordlessly picked up his now empty glass and wiggled it at the Alpha.

“Okay,” the guy conceded, smiling charmingly, “but I’m small potatoes compared to you.”

It was pleasantly surprising, the attention, the conversation. Few people were this relaxed with Bucky, and they were never Alphas. The way Bucky smelled made them think of sex, provoked the most primal of urges, and it resulted in very predictable behavioral patterns. This Alpha was different, like Rogers had been different.

“My name’s Michael,” the Alpha introduced himself, extending a hand to shake. “I want to take you home and feed you veal.”

Bucky blinked, the segue taking him off guard.

“Feed?” he asked blankly.

The Alpha nodded vigorously, his hand still extended.

“I like to cook. No scratch that, I love to cook, and by god, you look like a man that can _eat_.”

“You want to feed me,” Bucky repeated, still masking his confusion behind a bland tone.

That earned him another view of the Alpha’s nice smile.

“Well, other things too, but I have a feeling that’s up for debate,” Michael nodded, still smiling. “So? Want to eat something good and maybe spend the night?”

Bucky stared, hesitating. This was an Alpha, but not one he knew what to do with. Much like Steve, Michael behaved like no Alpha Bucky had ever met.

“Sure,” he finally agreed, reaching out to take the man’s hand and shake it. “I’m Bucky.”

“Nice to meet you, Bucky,” Michael’s smile somehow got wider, “Come on, my car’s in the back.”

That was how Bucky ended up at the strange Alpha’s house, half-expecting to be shoved up against a wall. Michael kept his word, though, leading him straight to a large, expensive kitchen. The home itself was modest, a brownstone in a part of Jersey that Bucky had never been to before. Whatever it was Michael did for a living, he was doing well for himself.

Ushering Bucky into a chair at the kitchen’s island, Michael flashed him that smile and asked, “What do you want to drink? I have beer, a new bottle of red, and a modest liquor cabinet.”

“Uh, wine,” Bucky answered after a moment’s thought.

Leaning on the counter, Bucky watched Michael pour the wine and then pull out a slew of vegetables and meat from the refrigerator. He chopped them with a mastery of knives most soldiers never managed, and Bucky was captivated. The silence between them wasn’t strained, or uncomfortable, Micheal casting him sly glances and looking pleased with his focus. It must have been obvious how interested he was, not having watched anyone cook since… Well, since his mother in the ‘30s.

“Who taught you to cook?” Bucky asked as Michael pulled out a huge, black, strangely shaped pan from a cabinet.

“My father,” Michael answered, flashing him a smile, “He was a chef, had his own restaurant. I think he wanted me to take over for him, but that was more my sister’s speed.”

“Oh?” Bucky sipped from his wine, watching the gas stove flare to life and oil pool along the bottom of the pan. “What’s your speed, then?”

“I’m an artist,” Michael answered proudly. “Sculpting, mostly, but painting on occasion. Worked with stained glass once. What is it you do?”

“Oh, I’m,” Bucky hesitated, “between jobs, at the moment. Not sure what I’m going to do next.”

Michael watched him for a second, then flashed that smile again.

“You want to help me cook? Trust me, you don’t have to, but you look more than a little curious.”

“Oh, I,” Bucky sat back, pushing a hand through his hair, “I’ve never really cooked before. Wouldn’t know where to start.”

“Well, you just sit back and relax then,” Michael replied, “Maybe next time we’ll think about lessons, but tonight you just get to enjoy yourself.”

Bucky watched with fascination as the meat was doused with herbs, then tipped into the pan where Michael had been melting butter. More spices and ingredients followed - cream, garlic, and wine were all that Bucky recognized - and Michael kept casting him sly looks and that brilliant smile as he added more spices by feel, never once actually looking at a recipe. It was working, though. Whatever the dish was, it smelled amazing.

“That smells incredible,” Bucky said, having to be honest and give due credit, “What are you making?”

“Veal saltimbocca with pasta,” Michael answered, and laughed when that clearly meant nothing to Bucky. “Good food, trust me. You really never done any cooking?”

Bucky shrugged awkwardly, glancing at his glass of wine. The reason he’d never done any cooking wasn’t one he was about to admit to. Thankfully, Michael didn’t press.

“Come ‘ere, I’ll let you help me after all.”

Hesitant to do anything he had no experience with, Bucky slipped from the chair as Michael continued to smile warmly at him. Like he didn’t care that Bucky didn’t know what he was doing. And screw the feeling in his stomach that said he was going to be punished for not knowing. He was going to do this, and he wasn’t going to feel bad about it.

As Michael kept cooking, Bucky was allowed to boil and salt water. Then he was even allowed to put the pasta into the water. He couldn't remember feeling this…lost and unprofessional about anything in a very long time. It was a strangely refreshing feeling, once he got over the twisting in his gut.

“There, see?” Michael said after he had pulled a strand from the boiling water and threw it at the side of the fridge. It stuck and that had pleased the Alpha, apparently. “You can cook. Ready for the next part?”

Bucky laughed.

“Maybe you should just take it from here.”

“Nope,” Micheal’s hands landed on Bucky’s hips and, to his shock, he didn’t tense, “We’re making you a chef yet. Come on, it’s easy. Trust me?”

Bucky took a breath, tossing his head, and looking back at the Alpha.

“Fine, what next?”

Michael’s smile covered most of his face.

It turned out not to be as hard as Bucky thought. They drained the pasta, threw it together with the ingredients Michael had been combining in the pot. Under Michael’s watchful eye, he added more seasoning - just salt and pepper, but he couldn’t stop smiling as he did - and stirred the lot as it sizzled and bubbled, thickening as they watched. Then Michael shovelled it all into a huge bowl, handed Bucky two plates and two forks, and left for the living room. _Not_ the formal, heavy oak table Bucky had seen in the dining room.

“I’m a great cook,” Michael said as he set the bowl on the coffee table, “but I never did quite get the hang of small portions. Hope you’ve got an appetite.”

“I think we’ll be fine,” Bucky said with a chuckle, taking a seat on the couch. The living room was packed with large chocolate-colored furniture, and bookcases. Not a television in sight. There were mirrors and lamps, side tables, and paintings on every inch of wall space, but it wasn’t claustrophobic. It was nice, cozy. Very…Michael.

“Not a formal dinner?” Bucky asked as Michael returned with the bottle of wine.

“You don’t strike me as the formal dinner kind,” Michael said honestly. “Comfort, that’s what meals are supposed to be about. You gonna be more comfortable in there?”

Bucky glanced toward the dining room and shook his head.

Grinning, Michael plopped onto the seat at Bucky’s side. He spooned the pasta, meat and vegetables onto a plate and passed it to Bucky. Plating his own meal, he sat back and balanced the plate on his knees. Filling both their glasses, he raised his and tapped it against Bucky’s.

“To first-time chef’s,” he said with a grin.

Despite himself, Bucky couldn’t help but grin back. The itch was gone, faded from beneath his skin. For the first time since gaining his freedom, Bucky felt like he could relax.

“So, try it; tell me what you think of your first meal.”

Blinking, Bucky did as he was told, taking a mouthful of food that he hadn’t actually done that much work to make. It was delicious and he groaned his approval. Michael laughed, bumped his knee, and dug in as well.

They ate in companionable silence, passing the bottle of wine between them to fill up their glasses as needed. It was so easy, a nice distraction from Bucky’s thoughts, from his unruly body that kept getting all perky because there was an Alpha close by. The suppressants helped, stopped the heats, but they didn’t stop everything. The hyper-awareness of any Alpha in the room, of Michael’s leg against his own, the fucking want. As much as Bucky hated, hated his biology for how easy it was to use against him, hated that his body was his own worst enemy, he still _wanted_.

Michael wasn’t helping. He was unassuming, funny, not physically threatening, and it wasn’t much of a surprise that, somewhere between his third plate of the pasta and the last glass of wine, Bucky found himself half-lying on his back with armful of whipcord slim Alpha. They kissed, slow and wicked. Michael’s hips were wedged between his legs, pelvis rubbing at Bucky’s stomach. Bucky could feel the Alpha’s cock filling up, becoming hard and hot beneath the thick fabric of his jeans, but he didn’t stop. Michael tasted good, tangy from the wine, and smelled even better, like chemicals and cosmetics. A scent that felt familiar in a way Bucky couldn't put his finger on.

When Michael tugged at his shirt, Bucky shook his head. His synthetic sleeve covered up his metal arm quite well, but it wouldn’t stand up to such a close scrutiny. The hands stopped immediately, fingers brushing over the ridge of his jeans.

“You sure?” Michael asked between slow kisses, his long-fingered hands skimming over Bucky’s ribs, tracing the contours of his muscles, but over his shirt. “I kind of want to lick you all over.”

“Yeah, I have scars. Car accident,” Bucky lied, leaning up to kiss Michael and distract him from thinking too much about what he had said.

When Michael’s mouth strayed from Bucky’s lips, it went to his jaw and cheeks, never his neck. The blond Alpha was really nice, his touch pleasurable, and not stirring any of the violence Bucky usually felt beneath his skin. Maybe it was because, physically, Michael couldn't dream of forcing Bucky. If anything, Bucky could probably throw him like a rag doll. It made sense. The absolute lack of dominance and threat made Bucky go so easily, the sneaky Alpha turning his own lack of aggression into persuasive power.

“I don’t mind scars,” Michael said against his cheek, his body undulating slowly and Bucky’s body responding in kind.

Bucky shook his head again.

“No,” he said firmly.

Michael didn’t press again, returning to Bucky’s lips. The thought of exposing the scarred, aching skin where the metal arm connected to his skin was unpleasant. It was strange, because Bucky wasn't one to shy from scars before, and he had done this before, had sex with civilians. Mostly he chose women, but he had ended up with men a few times as well. Bucky might have hated his need to spread his legs for an Alpha, but it didn’t change that he had spent half a century doing just that. He just…missed it, sometimes. Missed the momentary relief and peace sex brought him.

Logically, Bucky knew it was the just effect of the conditioning he had undergone. Despite himself, he’d always been eager for the bonding nights. Eager to start them, eager to please, for them to happen because his body remembered one thing very clearly: the mating didn’t hurt. Whatever else was being done to him - punishments, torture, medical experiments - it always stopped when he went into heat. He was never in pain then, and none of his Alpha handlers had hurt him during the act. It was ingrained deep into his muscle memory, into his very bones that the bonding was something good, something he wanted to happen. It was only his conscious mind that fought it. His body loved to be fucked, while his mind hated it.

From time to time, his mind lost the battle.

Bucky wasn’t in heat now, but the want was there. Present, nagging at him. The warm weight of Michael over him felt good, as did his touch. Bucky’s body responded eagerly to it. The kisses were good, too. Bucky liked how easy they were, liked the humor and how charming Michael was, but even still he couldn’t escape the nagging sense of unease.

Sliding his hands from Michael’s back, feeling the lithe muscles and hard bone shift under his palms, Bucky rested them on the Alpha’s slim hips. He was…unsure what to do. Thankfully, Michael broke the kiss and looked at him, propping himself on his hands against the couch cushions and lifting his whole torso up. His hair fell into his eyes as he stared down at Bucky with an oddly wry expression on his flushed face.

“You aren’t really into this are you?”

“Um.” Bucky blinked, strangely wrong footed at being called out.

Michael sighed and slumped, sliding down until he was sitting on his knees between Bucky’s legs, no longer sprawled all over him. Immediately, Bucky missed the warmth and the weight of the other man, but he was also relieved at the cessation of sexual activities. It was a confusing conflict of emotions.

“You aren’t bonded,” Michael said, both his hands resting on Bucky’s bent knees. “I would have been able to smell it on you.”

“I’m not,” Bucky confirmed, viciously happy that all the bonds Hydra forced on him had never gone beyond the temporary. Hydra had ensured he never formed a true bond because while it would give them even better control of him, it would have meant having him only for as long as his handler would be alive. 

“But there is somebody,” the younger Alpha insisted, brows furrowing.

Bucky opened his mouth to protest, because there wasn’t. He wasn’t bonded nor interested, but the words stuck in his throat. Because he _was_. Bucky was interested.

He sucked in a sharp breath. He could be temporarily bonded, too. It would explain so much...

After a century, he was so used to tamping down on that part of himself as hard as he could, he wouldn’t even feel it. The bonds didn’t form how they were supposed to any more, that was how he had gotten away from Hydra in the first place. Considering it now, that would explain so much. The way he had felt so strange recently, so down. Instead of the euphoria of being free again, all Bucky had felt was anxious and sad. Downright wrecked. His constant irritation…

Now that he’d had the thought, he knew it was true. He had bonded to Steve between the sheets after the mission. Temporarily bonded, but that he had at all was startling. Bucky had thought he was incapable anymore.

“And that face,” Michael's voice pulled him from his increasingly panicked thoughts, “means you’ve just realised who it is you want. And it’s not me.”

Michael sighed deeply. His hands were still resting on Bucky’s knees, though, two points of heat and contact between them.

“Just my luck,” Michael sighed again, “Find an Omega hotter than sin, smelling like sex on the hoof, and of course he’s already taken.”

Bucky tensed, instinctively readying for a fight. Alphas didn’t react well to offers of sex being withdrawn. Yet, there were none of usual signs of anger. There was frustration, in the tightness of Michael’s mouth, and he was still hard, the outline of his dick clearly visible through his tight jeans. There was no anger, though.

Bucky opened his mouth to… He closed it again. He wouldn’t say sorry. He didn’t apologise anymore, to anyone.

Michael got up. Hissed, probably at the pressure on his cock, and went to the cabinet he pulled wine from before. He opened it and pulled out two more bottles.

“Come on, get up.” Michael waved both the bottles. “I figure you owe me a talk and a pose, so let's go and get on with it.”

Bucky sat up carefully, staring at the Alpha suspiciously.

“Uh, pose?”

“I’m going to paint my frustration out and you are going to be extremely nice and keep still for me for at least an hour. At _least_.”

“Am I?” Bucky asked, watching Michael move with that same grace that he had noticed first at the bar.

“Yes,” the Alpha nodded decisively and offered Bucky one of the bottles. “I will even give you another bottle of wine. And I will give myself one, too. I will need it to swallow the bitter pill you’re serving me.”

“Do you train in martial arts?” Bucky asked, taking the offering.

“Me?” Michael snorted, leading Bucky up a set of stairs behind the dining room.

“The way you move….” Bucky trailed off, unsure. “It’s very graceful.”

Michael laughed, loud and clear.

“Me? A fighter? Ha! No, that’s fifteen years of ballet dancing at work. It gave me the most brilliant ass imaginable.”

Since Bucky was staring at said ass as he followed Michael up the stairs, he would have had to rate said ass as very stunning.

“You may be onto something there,” Bucky admitted.

Michael laughed again and Bucky felt the tension drain from his shoulders. There would be no fight here, no more pressure to have sex. That was it, except whatever it meant that he was posing and holding still.

“Too bad it doesn’t hold more of your interest,” Michael said mournfully, but there was an edge of teasing, too.

“So? Posing?” Bucky prompted.

“Yes,” Michael held the first door open for him in the hall and Bucky stepped past into what was obviously the man’s studio. “However you please, but make sure it’s something you’ll be willing to hold for an hour.”

“At least, I remember,” Bucky huffed a laugh, the tension unwinding in him again. Michael had several large pieces of furniture in his studio as well, and Bucky chose an overstuffed armchair near the window. Slinging himself over it, he swung a leg over one arm and leaned back, throat bared.

Michael groaned.

“Good?” Bucky asked, smirking.

“Perfect,” the Alpha said, turning away. 

As Bucky watched from his sprawl, Michael set up an easel and rolled over drawers that seemed filled with a multitude of paints. Light blue eyes flicked over him, drinking him in, and for once Bucky didn’t feel like a piece of meat waiting to be devoured.

“So,” Michael prompted as he fished through the drawers for a pencil, “who is he?”

“How do you know it’s a he?” Bucky asked.

“Call it a hunch. So?”

Bucky watched the Alpha work, considering the question, and what he could reliably give as an answer.

“I was in prison for a while,” he decided to start with. He watched the blond Alpha pick up a pencil, sketching something on the canvas, and was impressed that Michael didn’t flinch at this revelation. “Bad people did bad things to me, so I did worse to them.”

Michael stopped sketching and looked up at him. His eyes were calm behind his glasses, lips no longer smiling. There was nothing judgemental about his look, though. If anything, it was understanding.

“I figured there was something in your past. You have that look about you.”

“Dark?”

“Not really. Just a vibe that fucking with you would not end well…. And hello Freudian slip.”

Michael sighed at himself and took a swig from his bottle of wine. Lowering it again, he hesitated, looked at it, and then took another.

Bucky laughed, unreasonably charmed.

“This guy,” Bucky went on, “came in one day. All righteousness and drama. You seriously wouldn’t believe him if you saw him. Made me a deal; I help him with something, he gets me out. I took the deal.”

“Looks like that turned out well for you,” Michael noted.

“Yeah, we even fucked before I left. A nice little goodbye, you know?”

Michael nodded, his head bobbing up and down so his fringe fell into his eyes. The Alpha looked at his hands, both holding art supplies and then started trying to blow the hair out of his eyes. It was, Bucky had to admit, utterly hilarious.

“But we still can’t fuck?” Michael asked between puffs, only halfway successful in his attempts to get his hair out of his eyes.

“We can’t,” Bucky confirmed reflexively, feeling the truth of that in his bones.

Michael stopped blowing and looked at Bucky, puzzled. 

“If it was a goodbye, why are you still hung up on that guy?”

Bucky opened his mouth to answer…and closed it just as fast. The question was simply too personal, the knowledge too new. An hour ago, he had thought himself incapable of bonding again. It had been best that way, safest, to ensure no one could use him again. 

Except, Steve hadn’t ever tried, and Bucky didn’t know what to think of that.

Michael was silent for a moment, drawing with a slight furrow between his brows.

“Did _he_ know it was goodbye?”

“Huh?” Bucky blinked, surprised. “What else would it have been?”

Michael snorted.

“Considering you just now realised you’re more attracted to the man than you thought, I’m going to assume you’re not the sharpest tool in the box when it comes to feelings, so I’ll spell it out for you. If it was me, I’d be hoping it was the start of something more. That the next morning, we could talk about when I’d see you again.”

Bucky huffed, taking a healthy swig from his own bottle.

“You calling me stupid?”

“I’m giving you the choice between asshole, dim, or oblivious,” Michael corrected.

Bucky grimaced.

“I’m not that bad!”

Michael snorted again.

“The hell you aren't. The guy came up like some kind of hero. Pulled you out of prison, you two did god-knows-what, then he had you in his bed. You, with all that sex on the hoof glory I mentioned before, and you think he didn’t want more? I would want more. Hell, I would probably be considering engagement at that point.”

Bucky stared at Michael.

“Are we compatible?” he blurted before he could stop himself.

Michael jerked his his head up from the canvas to stare at Bucky with wide eyes.

“Don’t tell me your hero was a compatible Alpha.”

“I didn’t…ask,” Bucky admitted, “but I might have heard him say something like that to one of his friends…”

“Jesus,” Michael said, pushing a hand through his hair, “we need more than wine to deal with this.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to be drunk to explain to you, calmly, just how rare it is for an Alpha to find a compatible Omega who wants him, even if a little. Alphas go whole lifetimes without meeting a single compatible Omega. _Lifetimes_. And if you really slept with him, then… What happened? You run?” Michael cast him an assessing look. “You look like the kind of guy to pull a runner.” 

Bucky cringed and Michael snorted at the face he made.

“Yeah, hero-boy is probably shattered.”

Bucky licked his lips, focusing on the feeling of that unnerved misery that he was no longer thinking was his own.

“Yeah,” he said carefully, “I think so.”

Michael stopped again, then snatched the bottle of wine and swallowed, swallowed, swallowed, until Bucky was afraid he wasn’t breathing.

“You think?” he repeated when he finally brought it down from his lips. “All right, I’m granting you ‘oblivious’. Tell me you’re not bonded to the guy.”

“Uh,” Bucky managed.

Wincing, Michael focused again on his sketch with a visible effort of will.

“So the bond’s damaged,” he said, “or you’d not have made it out of his bed. That’s why I can’t smell it. Fuck. Do the throat thing,” Michael abruptly segued, his words slurring a little.

Bucky pretended not to understand.

“What throat thing?” 

“Don’t play coy with me,” Michael hissed at him. “Just do it.”

Bucky smirked, but tilted his head back, resting it on the back of the armchair and letting the muscles on the sides of his neck pull taut and sharp.

“Jesus, fucking Christ,” he heard Michael mutter under his breath as the pencil flew over the canvas with wicked speed. Minutes ticked by, the artist only pausing to down more of his wine. Every lash of blue eyes left Bucky warm and he did his best not to think, just enjoy the moment. He had the Alpha’s every focus, even if this was as far as it would go between them. It was still…nice.

Michael finally broke the quiet, his hand having slowed, flicking to Bucky and back often before moving now.

“S’when you goin’ back to ‘im?”

“Who says I’m going to?” Bucky demanded.

“Ha, fuckin’, ha,” Michael slurred, then squinted. “You’re not serious? Bucky, y’just told me y’have feelings for a compatible Alpha. Y’can’t… That’s not somethin’ you can just ignore.”

Bucky tilted his head to the side, watching Michael, then tilted his throat back and watched the Alpha lick his lips.

“Why not? If he’s hurt, why would he take me back?”

Snorting, Michael took a swig of his wine.

“Didn’ take you t’be the kind that’s scared of a little convers-sation. You tell ‘im the truth and, if he’s really compatible, he’ll come around.” Michael squinted at him again. “Or is it what you’re afraid of bein’ vulnerable with ‘im?”

Scowling, Bucky shifted and then slid off the chair. Snatching up the wine, he set it aside and tipped the Alpha’s face up. The blue eyes went wide, dilating immediately and Bucky almost felt bad about saying no. Almost.

“You see too much,” he said flatly.

Michael smirked, pulling from Bucky’s touch and reaching for his bottle of wine.

“I’m an artist. We see in the cracks a things for details. You, you’re a fighter.” Bucky handed back the wine and smiled as Michael took another long pull. “You keep fightin’ this, like you’re wont to, or…y’pick up the pieces that you scattered everywhere when y’ran, and get your shot at what the rest of us dream about.”

Leaning down, Bucky pulled Michael’s arm over his shoulders.

“Where’s your bedroom?”

“Mm, I wish y’were askin’ for pleasant reasons. The sex kind of pleasant.”

Bucky laughed as Michael wiggled his eyebrows, then followed the drunk artist’s directions. Tipping Michael into his bed, he tugged off his shoes, then pulled the coverlet over his chest. The Alpha just went where Bucky wanted, no fight, no push for anything more, despite being so inebriated. Bucky was charmed all over again, and wondered how many Alphas were out there like this, like Steve. Perhaps, _perhaps_ , they weren’t all bad.

“Hey,” Michael said as Bucky turned away.

Looking back, Bucky let himself push the curls from Michael’s forehead.

“Yeah?”

“Call me sometime, yeah? I got more cookin’ lessons for ya. An’...” he rolled onto his side, curling around his pillow, “I want t’show ya the paintin. When I’m done.”

Bucky laughed.

“I don’t have your number.”

“Oh,” Michael sat up, wiggling under the covers and blankets, then pulling out his wallet and throwing it at Bucky’s chest. “Cards. Got ‘em in there. Take one ‘n’ call me. Just cooking, promise, maybe some naked posing or… You know, if you want some advice about your hero.”

Flipping through the wallet, Bucky found the cards as promised. When he looked up, Michael was sprawled back on the bed, mouth open, eyes closed. Asleep already. Heart beating oddly, Bucky tucked the artist back under his blankets and left the wallet on the bedside table. He did take a card, though. Having a friend… It had been a long time, but Bucky missed it. Michael was the kind of guy he thought he wouldn’t mind getting to know. Easy to talk to, funny, a trouble maker, but a good guy. His desire to help Bucky had been genuine, and he’d known without needing to be told that Bucky’s thoughts had been elsewhere. With someone else.

Someone to the east. 

Someone unhappier than Bucky had suspected. Was that his fault? Had Steve really expected more from their roll in hay? Bucky considered it as he let himself out of Michael’s house. Steve had offered in the complex, said he was on offer if that’s what Bucky wanted. If it was what Bucky chose. Then he’d fucked Steve stupid, and left without another word. Bonded and left. Never mind that had kept his promise and how the hell he had even managed to bond was a damn mystery. 

Was it because they were compatible? Was it more than just biological compatibility?

Bucky swallowed.

A bond would explain so much. All the misery he’d felt since he’d left Steve, the itchiness, the overwhelming sense that something was wrong. That persistent sense of loss and sadness that had haunted him when he should be happy, downright ecstatic, because he had everything he could possibly want. None of it was his. He was sensing Steve’s side of the bond.

He thought about Michael's words, his reaction to learning Steve thought they were compatible, the honest shock and regret on the artist's face...

Yeah, he was probably to blame for that misery. The question was, what was he going to do about it?

\----

The next day, Bucky found himself outside Avengers Tower in Manhattan. The building was huge and far from the secret hideout Bucky had been expecting. A few hours, however, showed it wasn’t even as secure as he expected. Countless people went in and out of the lower floors, employees, business associates, a few military types and even a group of tourists. From what he could tell, they weren’t allowed past the first floor, however. That was just for the employees and the military types.

It took him three hours of surveillance to find a way in that was, for all appearances, lacked security. Another four hours confirmed that fact, and got him the pass code to the service entrance. He could hardly believe that the Avengers, if they were so important, were in such a poorly secured building, but all the better for him.

Slipping down the little side alley, he pushed open the service door, and stumbled to a stop.

Bucky shouldn’t have been surprised to find Steve waiting for him on the other side, but he was. After ignoring the pull of the bond for so long, not using it against Bucky except to deliver his documents, he had thought Steve would be ignoring his location. On the contrary, he had known where he was and had only forced a confrontation when Bucky had stepped into his territory. And it was Steve’s territory. The smell of him and another Alpha was everywhere.

“Is this a preemptive strike?” Steve asked calmly, “Or is there another reason you’re paying us a visit?”

Licking his lips, Bucky let himself have a good, long look at the Alpha. He was standing just far enough away, broad shoulders leaning against the wall, that he’d have plenty of time to react if Bucky attacked. At the same time, he hadn’t brought the shield, or suited up. The style was so outdated it was achingly familiar: pale blue button-up shirt, sleeves rolled up and stretched tight over his powerful muscles; pressed khakis; and loafers. The only thing missing was a pair of suspenders. Like Steve had stepped right out of his past, just for him.

That was a ridiculous thought, and he squashed it immediately.

“Where’s the suspenders?” Bucky asked before he could stop himself.

Steve’s lips quirked in a smile and he glanced down at his outfit before looking up at Bucky. His posture didn’t change, still casually leaning against the wall, arms and ankles crossed. Defensive. The flicker through the bond said he had relaxed, however. Took Bucky’s question to mean he wasn’t here to kill them.

“I’m told they went out of fashion,” Steve said with a shrug. Waving a hand at Bucky, he said, “You’ve caught up with the times.”

Glancing down at his black print shirt and black jeans, Bucky shrugged, the leather jacket rustling with the movement.

“I like the color,” Bucky said seriously, eyes coming back to Steve. It was…good to see him, good to be close. More so than he had expected.

“Very...” Steve hesitated, “I think the word’s goth?”

“Nailed it,” Bucky said, stepping fully into the corridor and shutting the door behind him.

Steve’s expression sobered.

“So why are you here, Sergeant?”

“Bucky,” he urged, “I liked it when you called me by my name.”

Unnaturally blue eyes softened and Bucky felt a strong longing that he quickly realized wasn’t his own. It made his stomach clench in all sorts of ways, but Steve made no move to come closer. His face was still closed off, still serious, and that consistent misery still laced the bond.

“Why are you here, Bucky?” Steve corrected himself.

Bucky couldn’t help but smile.

“You said I didn’t have to run any more, that the papers were real,” Bucky said quietly, watching Steve for any sign of deceit.

“They are,” Steve said firmly. “I made sure of it.” 

The Alpha was telling the truth, Bucky knew it as well as he had the first time he had heard those words. Bucky licked his lips, only realising he was tilting his head to show his neck when Steve flinched, looking away from him. The sense of disquiet filtered sharply to him. Through their connection, the bond.

“Please don’t,” Steve requested quietly, “Not if you don’t mean it.”

The thing was, Bucky hadn’t done it on purpose this time. Thinking back, he couldn’t be sure how often he’d shown his neck to Steve without realizing it. 

“You said, if I wanted it, I could have a spot on your team.” Bucky licked his lips again. “I want it.”

Steve looked at him again, tilting his head, the disquiet replaced with curiosity and surprise. Whatever Steve had expected Bucky to say, it wasn’t this. It was so strange to realize Steve was telegraphing everything he felt with his body, the bond completely unnecessary.

“Why should I believe that?” Steve asked. “The way you left, and after… Seemed you were intent on going your own way.”

Even knowing the question was coming, didn’t make it any easier to answer.

“I don’t want to be like Dr. Clarkson,” Bucky said honestly, tucking in his chin. “Hydra made me into a weapon, a tool for destruction. With you,” he licked his lips as something dark and angry shouted through the bond, “with the Avengers, I could maybe… just try to be myself.”

“You’ll have to follow orders,” Steve said, “work with people who may have hurt you in the past. Fury. Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., who knows who else. Can you do that? Because I can’t be worrying you’ll do something...unfortunate.”

Bucky grinned, showing teeth.

“Fury knows the score between us.”

“Bucky...” Steve started, but Bucky cut him off. Once he started arguing with Steve it would just go in circles for hours because Steve would want to have the last word, the way he always did.

“Shut up, Steve. It’s not your fight and you have no say in it.”

“As your leader, it is my-” Steve started again, all angry offense.

“So, I’m in then?” Bucky cut in sharply.

“What? Not if you can’t work with…”

“Then shut up; you have no say in the matter. Unless I’m on the team. Then, sure, I’ll listen to you.”

Steve’s jaw clenched, the vein at his temple jumping. Yeah, Bucky was pissing him off real bad and he could almost feel it, how it burned in Steve’s chest. Yet he swallowed it down, glaring all the while, which Bucky couldn’t understand. If he was so pissed off, why wasn’t he yelling? Or challenging Bucky, or even arguing? Why wasn’t he posturing, showing his domination of the situation? And how many other times had Steve kept his temper in check without Bucky noticing?

“Why do you want to join the team?” Steve asked.

“Very diplomatic,” Bucky said, almost hearing the echo of all the curses Steve wanted to throw at him, before schooling his features to match Steve’s somber expression, “I want...to try something different, maybe try things your way, for once. See if I can live like that. Can you believe that? Can you trust me?”

It relieved Bucky, strangely enough, that Steve didn’t answer right away. A confused swirl of emotions fluttered in the bond, the connection too weak for Bucky to feel them all clearly. Absently, he wondered what it would be like to have a real connection with Steve. To know him so completely.

“It won’t be easy,” Steve cautioned. “The team won’t be happy to see you. We’ll have to fall back on professionalism for a while, but I want to. Trust you.”

“But you don’t,” Bucky said bitterly, the knowledge cutting at him, though it surprised him how much he cared.

“I believe you,” Steve said, as if it meant something, and Bucky was surprised that it did. The Alpha pushed off the wall, uncrossing his arms to stand before Bucky, loose and open. “But last time I trusted you, I ended up breaking my own heart.” He held up a hand as Bucky opened his mouth to protest, what he didn’t even know. “It’s not your fault, I let the hormones get the better of me. That’s all on me and I can’t deny the sex was fantastic, but it’s not going to happen again. That’s my condition of you joining my team.”

Bucky swallowed hard, his stomach churning. The words shocked him, like a bucket of ice water right to the face. He couldn't even decide what caused the reaction: knowing that Steve didn’t want him, or how much it affected Bucky that he didn’t.

“But you want me,” he declared. There was no question of that. He could feel it in the bond, smell it on Steve himself. As if his words were a trigger, the longing burst inside Bucky again. Not his, _Steve’s_.

“My momma was right, when she told me to stay away from you,” Steve said quietly, “You’re no good for me, Bucky Barnes.”

“And if I wanted to be good for you?” Bucky pressed, tilting his head back, exposing his throat and feeling his pulse race as Steve’s gaze dropped.

Swallowing hard, Steve forced his gaze back up and said roughly, “Maybe there’s a lot of things you wanna change, but that ain’t one of ‘em. You are how you are; strong, independent, funny as hell, powerful, and sexy. You don’t want, or need, an Alpha in your life and I… I want someone who needs me.”

That was true, Bucky didn’t want to need anyone. But the last few days had proved to him that not all Alphas were terrible. Even the memory of Michael made him smile, the Alpha so charming and easygoing that Bucky hadn’t felt threatened for a moment. If he could like a total stranger so much, he could trust Steve, too. Steve who was stupidly opinionated, old fashionably chivalrous, honest, brave, though very much a threat, both physically and emotionally. Michael had been easy to like because he couldn’t force Bucky to do anything he didn’t want to. He had no leverage. Steve was a whole other kettle of fish. He was physically as strong, if not stronger than, Bucky; his serum was more efficient; his healing faster. Not by much, but enough to make a difference.

Unlike with Michael, getting close with Steve required trust.

“And if I have conditions?” Bucky pressed.

“Name them.”

“That simple?” Bucky asked, just for the sake of needling Steve. He knew Steve wouldn’t offer what he wasn’t prepared to give, but needed to hear him say it. Steve, however, didn’t rise to the bait.

“That simple.”

Bucky swallowed.

“You,” Bucky said impulsively.

Steve balked.

“Me, what?”

Bucky blinked, wrong-footed, and not quite sure how to continue.

“I answer to you; nobody else.”

The bond hummed with emotions as Steve visibly gathered himself, staring at Bucky with wide eyes. Finally, he nodded, sharp and firm.

“Yeah, that can be arranged.”

“Then we have a deal?” Bucky pressed, sensing Steve’s capitulation.

Steve smiled, opened his mouth, and the door behind him crashed open. Through it breezed Tony Stark, dressed in a tailored red and black suit, sunglasses on despite being inside, and exuding well-restrained fury. The scent of the other Alpha was all over Stark, giving them a name. Pepper Potts. Fascinating how well she and Steve shared their territory.

“JARVIS says there’s a clandestine meeting in this hallway and what do I find? A reunion! You weren’t planning on inviting me, Cap? It is my tower.”

“Tony,” Steve greeted, his lips fighting not to smile, “Bucky’s here to join the team.”

“And you said no, of course,” Stark said, but doubt laced his statement.

Half-turning towards him, Steve looked down at the Omega and laid a hand on his shoulder. Scent mark, comfort, assurance. Bucky’s teeth ground together because he had missed Steve’s smell on him the second it had faded, and Stark just...had it.

“I was just about to say yes, actually.”

Snatching his glasses from his face, Stark immediately crowded into Steve’s space. The Alpha didn’t flinch, or growl, no tension filtered into the bond.

“Are you insane? After the last three weeks? None of us is letting him anywhere near you.”

Bucky forced himself not to show a reaction to that. Apparently Steve hadn’t hidden his depression. Considering how strong it had been for Bucky to feel it, that shouldn’t have been surprising. It was unexpected that _that_ was Tony’s objection, though. He thought Tony would find his past as an assassin who had attacked S.H.I.E.L.D. the biggest problem.

“I’m an adult, Tony,” Steve said patiently, “Nothing that happened was his fault. He didn’t force me into bed, and I didn’t force him. It’s not like he led me to believe anything else would happen other than what did.”

Tony scowled, clearly realizing he wasn’t about to change Steve’s mind, and whirled on Bucky. Likely he would have gotten into Bucky’s face as well, but luckily for them both Steve’s hand clamped down on Stark’s shoulder and he could only take a single step forward.

“You knew exactly what you were fucking doing,” Stark accused, “You could have just walked away, but you had to ‘win’, didn’t you? Had to prove that you could conquer any Alpha and damn the consequences.”

“Tony,” Steve protested, his tone sharp as guilt and anger and hurt swirled in the bond, “it’s not his fault I thought it was more.”

Bucky flinched, and Stark smiled cruelly. Before he could say more, Steve shook the Omega hard and yanked him back a step. Good, because Bucky had been planning to take his head off.

“That’s enough, Tony, you’ve said your piece. I appreciate you’re upset on my behalf, but I don’t need you to fight my battles, especially where there’s no battle to fight. Bucky being here has nothing to do with what happened between us. Where else would you like him to go? Who else can help him that he can trust? He stays with us; he’s part of the team, or would you rather he go back to seeking his revenge?”

If looks could kill, Bucky would have shot Tony full of holes. Tony gave as good as he got, sending daggers Bucky’s way before shoving his sunglasses back into place. Then he straightened his suit, lifting his head, and shrugged nonchalantly.

“What do I care?” Tony asked. “I just pay for everything.”

Steve smiled weakly.

“Thank you, Tony. Bucky, come on and I’ll introduce you to the others.”

Turning sharply away, Tony started down the hallway while Steve motioned Bucky forward. He hesitated before coming to Steve’s side, watching the other Omega walking away.

“I’ll have JARVIS outfit an apartment for our new ‘friend’,” the billionaire called without glancing back.

Steve didn’t move, watching him go until the door slammed shut in his wake again. Hands stuffed in his pockets, he glanced at Bucky and shrugged a shoulder.

“He’ll get over it,” Steve said. “They just… Well, you know they worry about me. Thanks for not taking his head off.”

“Close thing,” Bucky said honestly. “He still irks me.”

“So, uh,” Steve pulled a hand free to run through his hair, mussing it attractively. Bucky had the urge to brush it back into place. “I was about to say we had a deal, but then Tony and I just assumed… I know you hate that and I’m sorry.” Steve ducked his head. “You’re joining us? Staying?”

“I didn’t.” Bucky swallowed down his apology. “It wasn’t conquering. I meant it as goodbye.”

“Well, it was that,” Steve allowed, his smile turning bitter along with his emotions. “So? You wanna be introduced?”

“What about,” Bucky blurted, “being part of your pack? Is that still on the table?”

Steve’s head came up so fast, Bucky worried for his neck.

“You want that?” Steve asked incredulously. “You wanna be…”

The word ‘mine’ remained unspoken between them. Bucky didn’t want to be anyone’s, but at the same time, he did. He wanted, and he hated himself for the wanting. Ducking his head, Bucky didn’t know how to say as much. Didn’t want to show his uncertainty, either.

Steve’s large hand lifted to rest on Bucky’s shoulder, and this time it was his head that whipped up too fast. Staring at it, his eyes then flicked to Steve and watched the Alpha’s lips curl into a smile. A very nice smile, and Bucky realized the misery was gone. Steve was...happy, and the warmth Bucky felt wasn’t just Steve’s, it was his as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a mandatory break point.
> 
>  
> 
> If you have been reading this non stop, please get up, go for a walk, or go to sleep. We'll still be here later.


	21. Chapter 21

“Come on,” Steve said, motioning down the hall towards the lobby, “Tony’ll probably have called Nat by now, so she can find us, but I want you to meet the rest of the team.”

Steve could still hardly believe Bucky was here, that the insistent tug of the bond wasn’t telling him to go, find his mate, keep him safe. There was no need, when Bucky was present, and the pain had finally vanished. It had lessened after the first week, but it had never faded. Not until now, with Bucky at his side.

As much as it was a dream, though, it was a nightmare. One moment he had asked to join the team, the next he’d refused to play nice with potential allies. It was almost difficult to care, though, with him at Steve’s side asking to join his pack.

“O-okay,” Bucky said, sounding as uncertain about this entire situation as Steve felt. “Are they all going to be pissed off about what happened?”

Sighing, Steve dropped his hand from where it had rested on Bucky’s shoulder. Marking him, leaving his scent, bringing him into the pack. Bucky was right to be nervous, especially when the pack was family, and they protected each other so fiercely. How they would react, though, Steve wasn’t sure. Tony had been obvious, but the others? 

“I’m sorry,” Steve said sincerely, “It’s not fair to you, but they might be. I took your ‘goodbye’ kind of…hard.”

Bucky stared at him with no little confusion and Steve wished, not for the first time, he could feel something else through their bond.

“They’re not mad I’m joining the team because it’s me?” he said slowly, “You think they’ll be mad because we had sex?”

A hot flush started in Steve’s toes at the reminder of the sex they’d had. The incredible, mind-blowing sex. How tight Bucky had been, how sweet and - Steve wrenched his thoughts away with no little effort.

“Because I didn’t want you to leave.”

“Oh,” Bucky said, as if that meant something more than the obvious. He opened his mouth to say more, but the door swung open and the scent of an Alpha swept into the hall. Bucky’s reaction was as intense as it was immediate. He growled, low and fierce, crouching at Steve’s side. The naked challenge in the growl startled Steve, the violence of it so out of place, especially towards Pepper. She was an Alpha, sure, but she wasn’t a threat to Bucky in any way. She was bonded already and physically weaker than him, there was no reason for him to be this wary of her. 

Yet the sound of Bucky’s growl, of his alarm, cut straight through Steve. His Omega, _his_ , feeling threatened. Shifting to partially block Bucky’s view of Pepper, he gritted his teeth as his own growl threatened to leave his chest. A real challenge Pepper’s instincts would insist she answer, and she _wasn’t_ a threat.

“Bucky, stop,” Steve said through his still clenched teeth, “Pepper. This is Bucky, he…”

“Oh,” Pepper said, having not moved from the doorway after hearing Bucky’s growl, “I see. And I’m upsetting him, why?”

Bucky stopped growling just as suddenly as he had started, the sound literally cutting out in the middle. He blinked once, and all tension suddenly left his body. Steve stared, surprised and uneasy with the swift, unexplained mood shift. 

“Just took me by surprise,” Bucky answered Pepper, ignoring the fact the question was directed at Steve. “Wasn’t expecting another Alpha.”

Swallowing down his instincts, Steve made his own body relax and shifted to the side.

“Bucky, this is Pepper. She’s Tony’s Alpha, and part of my pack.”

Smiling, Pepper still didn’t budge from the doorway.

“I’d like to shake your hand, Sergeant Barnes. I’ve heard a lot about you; would that be all right?”

“As I said, you just surprised me. Of course I’ll shake the hand of a beautiful woman. I’m not a barbarian.”

The smile on Pepper’s face was strained and Steve knew why. He was clenching his fists hard enough the knuckles were turning white, Bucky’s flirting making his instincts flare. The ones that demanded any other Alpha submit, to stay away from what was his. He couldn’t do that, not to Pepper, so when her blue grey eyes darted his way, he nodded once and stepped back again.

As if she hadn’t asked for permissions from either of them first, Pepper strode down the hall and stopped before Bucky, hand outstretched. Steve blew out a hard breath as Bucky took that hand, another Alpha putting their scent on what was _his_. Except, he forcefully reminded himself, Bucky wasn’t his, and Steve had made that decision. 

“It’s a pleasure meeting you,” he said, “I’ve heard a lot about you from Tony.”

Steve fought the urge to snort at the obfuscation. It was more like Bucky provoked a fight and then shamelessly eavesdropped. Still, Steve only relaxed when Bucky let go of Pepper’s hand and she took a step back to put more space between herself and Bucky. Steve reminded himself how grateful he was for her, for how understanding and honest she was.

“I hope you can excuse Tony’s attitude. He doesn’t exactly know how to contain his opinions on things that aren’t any of his business.”

“He told you we were here?” Steve asked, hoping Tony hadn’t just treated Pepper to a rant because of him and his - decidedly _not his_ \- Omega.

“No,” Pepper smiled at him, sharp now, and Steve forgot his earlier instinct to attack, as it shrank with guilt of whatever he had done wrong, “We have a date, remember? You still owe me for bailing you out of that last minute dance date.”

Bucky’s mood changed again as Pepper spoke. Outwardly, he was still relaxed, but something in the way he shifted his stance, the way he tilted his head just a little sideways so that Steve had a good line of sight on his unprotected neck spoke of trouble. That Bucky was either up to something, or… Steve lost his train of thought as he stared at Bucky’s throat.

Clearing her own throat, Pepper jolted him back to the moment, and he shook himself.

“What? Yes, right,” he said quickly, looking away and fishing out his phone for something _else_ to stare at. God, but the man was sex on legs, and that was just unfair. “Um, Buck, I’m gonna get Sam to come show you around, okay? I really do owe Pep, and it’s technically your fault since you made me promise Natasha to pick up a new hobby.”

Bucky turned to look at him, and though Steve was trying, he couldn’t help but look into unreadable grey gaze.

“Hobby?” he asked, his voice dropping half a register.

Swallowing, Steve nodded and darted his eyes back to his phone as he typed out a text to Sam asking him to come down to the lobby ASAP.

“Yeah, one new hobby I stick with, and a vacation,” Steve answered. “Like I promised.”

“Vacation started last week,” Pepper offered helpfully. 

Bucky turned to look first at Pepper, then at Steve.

“And you are having dance dates during your vacation?” Bucky asked, his voice odd, but still low. Steve tensed; he both loved and hated the way Bucky’s voice changed registers up and down, at times sideways, too. It sent so many mixed messages, whether a threat or a promise, but mostly it was _interesting_.

“Dancing is a hobby,” Steve answered defensively, glad Tony wasn’t here to mention again why he’d even thought of taking lessons.

“A hobby you’re terrible at,” Pepper said with a laugh. “My toes still hurt.”

Steve flushed, quickly tapped out a demand for Sam to hurry, and tucked his phone in his pocket.

“Well, that’s why I canceled the rest of the lessons, isn’t it.”

Bucky fixed his unreadable eyes on Steve, the expression lighting up now. 

“I’ve seen you fight,” Bucky said unexpectedly, a smirk pulling on his lips, “you should be able to dance all right.”

Feeling his face heat up even more, Steve looked away.

“Capable, maybe, my partner might not make it. Something about it, I just…”

“Step on my toes,” Pepper said teasingly before looking at Bucky. “He got on the dance floor for half a second and lost every ounce of confidence he ever had.”

“You need me to show you how it’s done?” Bucky asked, his voice reaching indecently low registers, making Steve’s cock suddenly take interest when Steve had had it under control so well till then. 

Clearing his throat, he quickly shook his head. He had to keep a distance from Bucky and dancing would not help with that.

“No, but, um, thanks.”

“You sure?” Pepper interjected. “I’m sure if you called, they’d be happy to take Tony’s money again, and I bet the Sergeant's toes are much more sturdy than mine.”

At some point, Steve thought, his face had to go back to its normal color.

“Yeah,” Steve said quickly, “I’m sure.”

Bucky didn’t take the refusal well, his eyes lighting up in a challenge even as the smirk grew wider. 

“You know my trainers had me learn different types of dancing before they started on the actual martial arts? I can rock you like you wouldn’t believe.”

Steve swallowed, feeling both irrationally angry at the mention of Bucky’s trainers, and defensive because he wasn’t sure how to keep saying no without being insulting.

“Maybe we can talk about it later. After you settle in.”

“You did promise, Steve,” Pepper said sweetly.

Cringing, Steve nodded. 

“Well, I’m also taking that painting class.”

“Oh, count me out,” Bucky said immediately. “I’m not posing again. It’s boring as hell.”

“Posing?” Steve repeated, jealousy curling around his heart like poison. “Posing for who?”

“Drunk sculptor,” Bucky said easily, looking around the hall, not even paying attention to Steve. It twisted up Steve’s stomach, his heart beating wildly at the thought of Bucky doing…what? Steve didn’t know, but he had a vivid imagination, and it was supplying him with plenty of images. Images of his Omega laid out for someone else, someone else’s eyes on his skin and Steve _burned_ with the thought.

Before he knew what he was doing, Steve was taking a step towards Bucky, when he was again saved by the door to the hall slamming open.

“Saved by the bell,” Pepper murmured, bringing Steve’s mind back to himself. Both he and Bucky looked to her, as Sam rushed in. Steve knew she was right, too. Whatever he’d been about to do - something involving pushing Bucky against the wall - would certainly not have been within the realm of acceptable behavior when he had decided not to have a relationship with his - _not_ his - Omega.

“Hold your horses. I’m here,” Sam said with a smile, walking right up to Steve to smack him on the arm, none too gently. It seemed that he didn't appreciate the multitude of texts Steve had sent to hurry him up.

“Sam,” Steve said, and probably didn’t hide the relief he felt as well as he should, “this is Bucky. Bucky, this is Sam, also known as the Falcon. He’s my best friend and you’ll be safe with him.”

Both Sam and Pepper winced when Bucky narrowed his eyes. 

“I mean,” Steve said quickly, “we all know you can take care of yourself, but it’s a big tower and some things are deceptively dangerous. Like Bruce. And I trust Sam, and he’ll take care of you. Show you to your room, how things work -”

Bucky stared at Steve with his eyebrows climbing up with every word, almost into his hairline.

“Steve,” Pepper gently stopped him, “Shut up.”

Shutting his mouth so fast his teeth clipped his tongue, he looked wide-eyed and pleading at Pepper.

“So, we were going, then?”

Though her lips twitched, she was too kind to laugh at him.

“Yes, we were. Happy is waiting in the garage. Sergeant,” she said, turning to Bucky, “it was a pleasure to meet you.”

“You too,” Bucky said almost absently. 

“You two have fun,” Sam said, eyeing Steve with something close to disappointment.

Turning on her heel, Pepper started for the hall door and Steve quickly followed, though Steve could swear he could feel Bucky’s eyes boring into his back the whole way. Pushing his hands into his pockets, he followed Pepper down to the garage, but his mind wasn’t on her, or where they were going. It was on the growing tug of the bond, the discomfort that grew the farther from Bucky he got. The places Pepper usually shopped were in Manhattan, so he didn’t expect to get far enough away for the bond to become painful, not after so much time had passed.

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?” Pepper asked as soon as Happy shut the door on them, yanking Steve from the exact thoughts she accused him of. “He seemed nice.”

“Spend more time around him,” Steve said dryly, “You’ll change your mind.”

Pepper raised an eyebrow.

“If he’s so terrible, why do you like him so much?”

Shifting uncomfortably, Steve looked up at the ceiling where, floors away, Bucky was with Sam.

“He’s not terrible,” he conceded, “he just…gets defensive and attacks and he’s really, really good at spotting a person’s weaknesses. Don’t think he always knows how much he’s hurting people.”

The car started so smoothly Steve only knew they were moving because he could see the scenery change behind the window.

“Tony thinks he doesn’t care if he does,” Pepper pointed out.

Steve shook his head firmly.

“No, though I’ve never heard him apologize, either. Like… In the complex? He said something, and it was Tony, so he _was_ pushing too hard, but he meant well, and once I’d pointed that out to Bucky, he didn’t apologize for what he’d said, but he went out of his way to play Tony’s games. Keep him calm, watch his back. He’s a good guy, he’s just…”

“Very, very angry?” Pepper supplied.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, slumping into the plush leather seats, “Really angry. Mostly at me, it seems.”

“I didn’t notice him angry with you just now.”

Steve snorted.

“Whatever I say, whatever I offer, or promise, he never takes me at my word. He always needles and pushes and _challenges_ me. Every single time. Never gives an inch so I can’t…relax, I have to be switched on, all the time. Just now, when I suggested he needed protection? Or before that, when I asked him not to stab Fury in the face? He’s like mercury, emotions so liquid and volatile you never know where you stand from one second to the next.”

“I bet he feels the same way.”

Frowning, Steve sat up and eyed Pepper dubiously. She didn’t bat an eye, sitting across from him with her legs crossed, black skirt hugging her legs, heel swaying slightly with the movement of the car in traffic. There was nothing but calm, collected confidence coming from her, which was one thing he’d always admired. Even when standing by an Alpha and Omega as volatile as him and Bucky, she’d never once lost her head.

“And what do you mean by that,” he demanded.

“You smell of desire, Steve,” Pepper said gently, “You want him, you pushed him away, up until the moment he mentioned he posed for a drunk artist, and then you were about to shove him against the wall to stake your claim. If Sam hadn’t walked in…”

Steve groaned; she was right.

“I’m trying not to, but he’s… he’s so… _Bucky_.”

Throwing up both his hands, he knew that wasn’t an explanation, but it was all he had. It was Bucky, and he got under Steve’s skin like no one ever had. Pepper’s sculpted eyebrow rose, clearly unimpressed with his antics.

“Why are you trying _not_ to?”

Slumping again, Steve slid back down in his seat.

“He’s… He came back for a new start, not for…”

Steve swallowed and Pepper’s expression morphed to one of pity.

“You.”

“Yeah,” Steve mumbled, shoving a hand through his hair, “and he deserves a chance to have a real life. Some place stable where he can…learn not to be so angry, and that not everyone is going to fuck him over the first chance they get.”

Pepper snorted and Steve flushed, though he didn’t know what she found so amusing.

“Why in heavens are you calling Avengers Tower a stable environment? There’s an explosion of some kind at least once a week. One of your teammates changes into a rage monster, literally. Another is liable to invent something that will blow up the city by accident. You have a super-spy that made paranoia her middle name, and a spastic archer, not to mention an alien god of thunder, whose grasp of social norms is often…lacking, to put it mildly. You really think he couldn’t find a place, far away from here if all he wanted was a new start?”

“It depends on your definition of stable,” Steve grumbled, “Bruce is the calmest guy I know and Bucky… I don’t think Bucky could relax if it was completely safe. I can’t, Clint and Natasha can’t, but…we have each other’s backs. We’re all a little broken, Pep, got our demons, but where else are people going to understand what happened to him? I died fighting the people who did that to him. Clint was brainwashed, indoctrinated, and made to kill his friends just like him. Natasha was Red Room and they treated her like they did him. Sam… Sam is the only person who can handle us all. This _is_ the best place for him, and I don’t… My shit shouldn’t get in the way of that.”

“I see you have it all figured out,” Pepper said mildly.

Steve’s blush returned full force.

“I might think about it a lot,” he mumbled.

“Still, I have to admit you surprised me, Steven. I didn’t expect you to be such a fast talker. And so thorough.”

“What?” Steve asked, confused by the observation.

“I mean, you must have talked to Sergeant Barnes about all that when you were locked in the mating room, explaining all the team members and their unique situations, all the well thought out reasons why Avengers Tower was the best place for him. Tell me what did he say when you explained Thor to him?”

“Um.”

“I mean, alien prince!” Pepper shook her head with a small smile. “I’ve met the man, and I still sometimes can’t believe he’s real.”

“He kind of left before I could,” Steve admitted. “Then…he told me to leave, so, not really talking…”

“Then you explained while you were meeting him outside? My, Steven, you must have a talent to explain so quickly!”

Steve shoved a hand through his hair.

“Well, I was going to, but then you reminded me I’d forgotten our shopping date. You’re definitely getting at something here, though, so just say it. I know you want to.”

“I could hand you the answer, of course, but then you wouldn’t learn anything.”

“Aw, come on, Pep, I’m not Tony. I learn without having to fuck up everything first.”

Pepper raised another unimpressed eyebrow at him.

“Steve, if you haven’t had time to talk to him about the residents at the Tower, how he might get along with them, and they understand him, perhaps you haven’t had enough time to talk about other, more important matters?”

“Like?” Steve prompted, not seeing where she was going with the question.

Sighing, she gave him a long-suffering look usually reserved for Tony.

“You said he didn’t come back for you. You’ve had plenty of time to think about him coming back, imagine it, how the Tower will be perfect for him. Then he shows up and it didn’t quite go how you imagined, but did you _ask_ if he came back for you?”

Steve crossed his arms tightly over his chest.

“He said it was to join the team, to start over, and stop running. Got nothing to do with me.”

“Did you ask?” Pepper asked bluntly, “Or did you assume? He can have multiple reasons to join the team, but you don’t ask if he _also_ might want to explore what you two found?”

“It’s the only explanation for his…”

“Did you ask him that?” Pepper recrossed her legs, fixing him with a piercing gaze. “It’s only my opinion, of course, but emotions and reasons for doing anything are often very personal things. Nobody else can guess what we feel or why we feel them, why we do things. They can ask and we can answer. Everything else is supposition. You could be right, but you cannot be sure unless you’ve asked.”

An uncomfortable mix of emotions set Steve’s stomach churning.

 

“I don’t relish the opportunity to be rejected a fourth time,” Steve grumbled.

Pepper sat up, spine steel-straight, as she gave him a look of utter disappointment.

“You’re an adult, Steven. Sergeant Barnes has been through a lot, and he _came back_. Man up and talk to him, like an adult. If you can’t, well, frankly you don’t deserve him.”

“You seem awfully fond of him for only meeting him the once,” Steve asked, fully aware he was stalling instead of facing her challenge.

“Omegas like him, brave enough to challenge an Alpha, to break social norms, no matter what it will cost them, are rare. Any Alpha is privileged to bond with them. It’s not a right, it’s a gift, one you are not taking very seriously. If you can’t swallow your pride to ask over and over again? Well, there will be another Alpha, less afraid of the challenge Sergeant Barnes presents, who will treat him with the respect he deserves.”

“I respect him,” Steve protested, his body flushing hot and cold at the thought of losing Bucky to another Alpha.

“Not if you assume his thoughts and opinions without asking,” Pepper countered.

That drew Steve up short, remembering all the times Bucky had accused him of being so sure of himself. He was, he always had been, but he thought he understood the complaint now. How many people had ever taken the time, cared enough, to _ask_ if Bucky agreed, or what he thought, or felt? Probably very few.

“Okay,” Steve capitulated, “I’ll talk to him.” 

“Good,” Pepper said, sitting back, the challenge washing from her body language.

Swallowing, Steve asked quietly, “Was it worth the wait?”

Finally, Pepper smiled at him again.

“He was.”

\----

Pepper was trying on her third dress for the upcoming charity gala when Steve got his first text from Sam.

**Wilson** : So. Bucky likes ice cream.

Raising an eyebrow at the screen, Steve barely had time to react before another text came in.

**Wilson** : I mean, really fucking likes ice cream. Ate all of Bruce’s mint chocolate chip.

Holding back a laugh, Steve typed out his reply since Pepper was taking longer with this particular outfit.

**Rogers** : I think he found and ate every single candy bar in the Three Sisters. No joke.

**Wilson** : I’m taking him to the penthouse to raid Tony’s fridge. He’s always got ice cream.

**Rogers** I’ll stop with Pepper and get him some candy.

There was no answer, so Steve tucked his phone away, just as Pepper stepped out of the dressing room. The gown was a shimmery, emerald green, cut above the knees and tight. A ruffle served as a shoulder strap, while the other shoulder was bare. 

“No,” Steve said quickly, “that color looks amazing, but that ruffle makes you look like you’re coming straight out of…the past.”

Pepper laughed, already stepping back into the dressing room.

“The eighties, Steve. It was the eighties.”

“Whatever, but keep to the short ones. You’re legs are fantastic.”

As Pepper repeated the order to her personal shopper, Steve’s phone went off again.

**Wilson** : Holy shit, never heard an Omega GROWL like that.

**Rogers** What’s he growling at?

**Wilson** : I lost him.

**Rogers** : What do you mean you lost him?!

**Rogers** : Sam?! Answer me!

**Wilson** : I mean he was there, I turned around to read your text and when I turned back he wasn’t theer

**Wilson** : *there

It took all Steve’s self control not to rush immediately back to the tower. Not that he had enough to keep Pepper from noticing something was wrong when she stepped out in a little blue number that did everything for her legs, but was nowhere near classy enough for the event.

“What’s wrong?” she asked before he could give an opinion.

“He’s missing, and Sam is looking for him and I’m pretending everything is fine because he’s a grown-ass man who doesn’t need a babysitter.”

Pepper eyed him, then nodded once and turned a circle so he could get a better idea of the fit.

“No,” he said, “too short, vee in the back too low. The tabloids will call you a slut.”

An elegant eyebrow arched at him.

“Do I look like a slut?”

“No,” Steve huffed, “but that’s what they’ll call you.”

Nodding, Pepper slipped back into the dressing room and Steve began agitatedly tapping his foot. Twenty minutes and three more failed dresses later, just as Steve was about to give in and head back to the Tower his phone chimed again.

**Wilson** : Found him.

Steve rubbed his face, exhaling long and slow. It took effort to type well on the small phone.

“Sam found him,” he told Pepper even as he typed out a response.

**Rogers** : Where was he?

**Wilson** : In the ceiling.

Steve frowned at the phone.

**Rogers** : Didn’t Tony Clint-proof all the ceilings? And why’d he go in the ceiling?

**Wilson** : You can’t robo-arm proof a ceiling, Steve. and hell if I know. He’s your Omega

**Wilson** : Sorry. I know you’re still on the fence about that

**Rogers** : You never told me what he growled at. Is he out of the ceiling? 

Instead of answering, Sam sent a picture of a huge hole in the ceiling. Steve winced. Tony and Pepper were not going to be happy. JARVIS was probably very unhappy.

“Um, Pep, Bucky might have torn a hole in your ceiling.”

“Excuse me?” Pepper demanded, flinging open the dressing room door to glare at him in just her slip.

**Wilson** : Clint thought spying on a high strung super-soldier was a good idea.

“Clint startled him,” Steve explained, typing quickly.

**Rogers** : Is Clint okay?

**Wilson** : His dignity may not survive, otherwise ok.

Steve blew out a breath of relief, reporting, “Clint is fine. He’s definitely going to have learned his lesson, and I’m pretty sure Tony will have a new project.”

“Wonderful,” Pepper sighed, tossing her head back and shutting the dressing room door.

**Clint** : Your new house guest is a menace. the ceiling is mine. mine i tell you

**Rogers** : Sorry I didn’t warn you he was there, but Sam was taking him up for an introduction. Next time, say hi instead of spying first.

**Clint** : and thighs? who uses thighs to strangle a man?!

**Rogers** : Natasha. Are you okay? Sam said you were okay.

**Rogers** : I was told you were okay.

Before Clint could reply, another text came in, his time from Tony.

**Tony** : THIS IS WHY WE CAN’T HAVE NICE THINGS

The message was followed by another one, this time containing a short GIF that played out the scene of the ceiling breaking and Clint falling down, all flailing arms with…Bucky’s thighs locked around his head? Steve stared at the gif repeating a few times, ignoring the messages coming in, feeling a low burn of jealousy start up in his gut.

Licking his lips, Steve typed out a quick apology to Tony.

**Rogers** : Sorry, but you know things get broken when you keep superheros with PTSD in your tower.

**Tony** : YOU INVITED HIM. YOU’RE PAYING FOR A NEW CEILING

**Rogers** : I’ll talk to Bucky about it.

**Tony** : NICE THINGS STEVE. WE CAN’T HAVE THEM

Snorting, because Tony still hadn’t taken off the caps lock, he flipped back to Clint’s messages.

**Clint** : Sam stopped him before I was unconscious. Did you know he ate Bruce’s ice cream? I like him.

Steve frowned.

**Rogers** : Bruce, or Bucky?

**Clint** : Bucky. He’s like Natasha, only bigger and meaner and scarier. And not as pretty.

**Clint** : No, no one is scarier than Natasha, but I like him. Can we keep him?

Laughing, Steve called, “Clint likes Bucky.”

“You did say they’d understand each other.”

**Rogers** : We will try. Would you mind if I told him about you and Loki?

**Clint** : I read his file. Go ahead.

**Rogers** : Thanks.

Flipping back to Sam’s messages, he found he hadn’t missed any, but typed out another.

**Rogers** : Tell Bucky, Clint seems to have appreciated the greeting and hopes he stays.

Steve bit his lip.

**Rogers** : And I’d like to talk to him when we get back.

**Wilson** : Can’t now.

**Rogers** : What do you mean? Did you lose him again?! SAM

**Wilson** : You did not warn me it’s like babysitting a toddler on steroids!

**Rogers** : You lost him.

**Wilson** : Kind of?

**Rogers** : SAM. Text Tony. JARVIS is monitoring by now.

“Sam lost Bucky again,” Steve said without looking up as Pepper came out of the dressing room.

“You want to head back?” she asked.

“Yes,” Steve sighed, rubbing his eyes, but I really cannot be his babysitter. Not if…”

“Then tell me how I look,” Pepper demanded.

Looking up, Steve’s eyes widened as he took in the dusky rose-colored gown that was light enough it didn’t wash out her skin tone. Thin straps held up a heart-shaped bodice, elegantly draped so it appeared the fabric was wrapped about her body, tight in all the right places. Above her knees, the fabric became sheer, showing off Pepper’s incredibly long, gorgeous legs, and sweeping around her.

“That’s the one,” he declared. “It’s gorgeous, Pep.”

Beaming, she nodded and then nodded again to the clerk. 

“Now just one more, for the press conference next week, and we can get you back home.”

Steve smiled at her, though he knew it was tight. The phone chirped again as she slipped back to change, and the saleswoman wheeled in the rack with the suits.

**JARVIS** : Sergeant Barnes was located successfully.

Steve stared at the message with mixed feelings. He appreciated that Jarvis had added himself to his contacts, but the fact that the contact had no actual phone number listed always threw him for a loop. 

**Rogers** : Thank you JARVIS. Where was he?

Immediately after pressing the SEND button, Steve’s phone chirped again, announcing a new message from Sam. When he opened it, he was met with a picture of…Sam having his head in flawless thigh-lock inflicted by none other than Natasha. He stared at it, at Nat in her workout clothes, and wondered who had taken the picture.

Then another text arrived.

**Wilson** : Your boy doesn't know how to handle russian spies at all.

Steve stared, confused about the message before it struck him who was missing from that picture.

**Rogers** : Bucky?

**Wilson** : Yes. 

**Rogers** : Please don’t let Nat hurt him too badly. What did he do?

**Wilson** : We were just having a polite conversation and he snuck up on her.

Steve winced. Sneaking up on Natasha, even by accident, usually ends very painfully.

**Rogers** : Did you see my message about Clint? And talking later?

**Wilson** : Y

**Rogers** : So can we? Talk I mean.

**Rogers** : I’ll understand if you don’t want to.

**Wilson** : Srry, had to make sure Wilson still breathing. Yes.

Steve couldn’t help but smile.

**Rogers** : Thanks. I’m bringing home candy. Want anything in particular? Or a little of everything?

The dressing room door swung open and Pepper stepped out in a grey suit skirt with a pink blouse. Steve immediately scowled.

“You own five of those.”

“It’s professional,” Pepper protested.

“It’s boring. They have anything in that green? You looked great in that green.”

Pepper gave Steve a long look, but stepped back into the dressing room.

**Wilson** : Rogers you so owe me! Your boy says chocolate and nuts.

**Rogers** : I’ve been in debt to you for a long time, Sam. And I didn’t have anyone else I felt comfortable sending him up with. I trust you.

**Wilson** : Yeah yeah. Whatever, old man.

A text from Tony flashed on the screen and Steve flipped to his messages.

**Tony** : Should I fear walking around my own tower now?

**Rogers** : Nat attacked Sam, not Bucky, and you know you shouldn’t sneak up on her. Clint deserved it and he’s now enamored with Bucky. You’re fine, Tony. Besides, you know Pepper and I won’t let anything happen to you.

**Tony** : I demand team bonding.

**Rogers** : With Bucky?

**Tony** : Only if I can have Pepper.

Steve snorted.

**Rogers** : Team bonding it is.

Rolling his eyes, Steve sighed as he had barely stopped texting Tony when Sam was texting him again.

“Popular, aren’t you,” Pepper called teasingly.

**Wilson** : Steve

Steve stared at the text, thinking it looked a bit sheepish, a smuch as a text could be sheepish that is.

**Rogers** : You lost him again?

**Wilson** : sorry?

Steve rubbed at his eyes, looking up as Pepper came out of the dressing room. The suit was black, the skirt straight and cut just beneath the knees. The blouse beneath the jacket was the shimmering emerald green, cut in a slight vee to offer a small peak of cleavage.

“Yes,” Steve said immediately. “Hell yes. Normally I don't like you in black, but that green. Yes.”

Laughing, Pepper slipped back into the dressing room.

“I like it when I make you lose your vocabulary.”

Smiling himself, Steve looked down at his phone and typed out a quick message.

**Rogers** : I’m on my way back.

\----

Finding his way to Bucky’s new quarters proved to be fairly easy. Tony, despite his irritation, had put Bucky on the same floor as him, just across the hall. The floor was the only place in the tower where Pepper’s scent didn’t mingle side-by-side with his own, so he knew Bucky would at least be suspicious. Steve just hoped he was believed when he said he hadn’t asked for the proximity. Not that he didn’t like it; his instincts liked it very, very much. Steve was just really tired of doing things that made his ridiculous instincts happy.

Transferring the bag of candy (Snickers, Almond Joys, and PayDays) to his left hand, Steve knocked with his right. A knot formed in his stomach in the moments it took Bucky to answer the door. Pepper was right, they had so much to talk about, and Steve would have to strip himself bare before a man who could so easily tear him apart. Not physically, Steve felt himself a match for Bucky there, but emotionally, he would be an open book. And Bucky still attacked when feeling vulnerable.

If Steve hadn’t been through World War II, trained with super-spies, and fought a battle with aliens, he would have been panicking as Bucky opened the door. Who was he kidding, he was panicking. Bucky was incredible, and wonderful, and terrible, and Steve never, ever, knew how to handle him.

The door opened and Steve thrust the bag of candy before him before he even got a good look at Bucky. He had changed at some point out of the black print shirt, and into a grey tank top. Or maybe he’d just been wearing that beneath the original shirt.

Did Bucky even have personal effects? Steve should have asked. They might need to go shopping. Basic necessities, shampoo, toothbrush…

“Are you okay?” Bucky asked slowly. 

Steve took a breath.

“I brought candy. Can I come in? If you need anything, you just tell JARVIS and he’ll get it. I don’t know if Tony keeps toothbrushes on hand, so, you can ask him. Did Sam show you the communal kitchen? If yours isn’t stocked, you can get food there.”

“Slow down, breathe; you talk faster than Stark,” Bucky said, but his tone was mild as he took the candy and held it loosely in his left hand. Steve stared at the way the metal fingers closed around the paper bag, how delicate they could be when they could easily punch through bone and concrete. He would really, really like to draw them.

“Uh, sorry,” Steve apologised sheepishly.

“Come in?” Bucky asked, shifting away from the doorway.

“Yeah,” Steve answered through a suddenly dry throat, slipping past the Omega into the apartment. It already smelled like Bucky, his sharp scent filling the air with his hormones, more present, more persistent, than any other Omega he had ever known. Someone had already furnished the place, light greys, blacks and steel, warmed by splashes of red and yellow throughout. 

Steve’s eyes caught on the blackout curtains someone had drawn across the panorama of the New York skyline. Locking it out, keeping the occupant safe. It was the same in Natasha’s room, as well as Clint’s. On bad days, it was the same in Steve’s, despite the knowledge that the glass was several inches thick and unlikely to break even under a high caliber round.

“Want some?” Bucky’s voice startled Steve badly, making him jump and whirl around.

While Steve had been looking around the room, Bucky had closed the door and moved to the glass and steel coffee table. The bag rested on the glass, Bucky standing near with a Snickers already open and half-devoured. The rest was in his hand, vaguely tilted towards Steve in offering.

“I, uh, don’t like nuts,” Steve answered, reminded again how little they knew about each other, when Steve wanted Bucky this badly, “Had allergies when I was… Before.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Thanks, though.”

Bucky shrugged and ate the last of the candy bar in two bites, making Steve queasy watching. Thanks to his, now nonexistent - inherited diabetes, he had never developed much of a sweet tooth. He ate them on occasion, but watching Bucky open another sweet snack and demolish it in three bites was like watching a train wreck: he just couldn’t stop staring.

Wrenching himself from the sight, Steve looked around the room again, taking in more details, and this time saw a dark duffle sitting on the floor beside one of the armchairs.

“You have your things already?”

Bucky looked at him strangely. 

“I had it on my bike,” the Omega offered, ripping into another candybar.

“Um, well, like I said, JARVIS will get you anything else you need. He’s… He took me a bit to get used to. You’re settling in all right? And I’d apologize for Clint, but there’s no apologizing for Barton.”

“Clint’s an okay guy,” Bucky answered. “He also makes the most amazing faces when cornered.”

Steve smiled, feeling himself relax somewhat.

“Normally, no one comes into the ceilings after him, I can imagine his surprise.”

Bucky reached behind himself with the metal hand and, as Steve watched, pulled out a phone from his back pocket. Despite himself, Steve was left staring at his ass, perky and hard, wrapped up in black denim. If Steve was honest, he stared for longer than was strictly polite.

“Don’t have to imagine,” Bucky ran his metal thumb on the phone’s screen in a complicated pattern, unlocking it. It was odd to watch. Bucky was so comfortable with the technology, standing there calmly as he poked through his phone while holding the candy in his flesh hand. Like he had been born in this century. It had taken Steve at least a year to get that comfortable, and he had Tony to help him.

Bucky took another bite and turned the screen to show Steve. It took him a moment to understand he was seeing. Clint’s face, a little blurred but still recognizable, sideways, his eyes hilariously wide. Despite himself, Steve snorted with amusement.

“Send me that?” Steve requested. “Natasha will want a copy.”

“Number?” Bucky asked.

“JARVIS?” Steve said instead and a moment later, Bucky’s phone chirped. “That should be my contact info.”

Just how relaxed Bucky was before was evident in the way he suddenly _wasn’t_. Tension laced through his body, his shoulders back and down, head lower. He stopped eating the candy too, putting the rest of the bar onto the table.

“I’m being monitored here?” Bucky asked, his voice lowering rapidly.

“JARVIS?” Steve said again, approaching Bucky slowly and pulling his hands from his pockets so the Omega could see them. “Have you had a chance to introduce yourself?”

“Not as of yet, Captain,” JARVIS answered immediately and Bucky’s head snapped to the ceiling. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sergeant. Both Sir and Captain Rogers have told me a lot about you.”

“Sir is Tony,” Steve offered.

“Indeed. Sir is also responsible for my existence, maintenance, and programming. Such as the security features that ensure information recorded in the tower is seen only by myself and Sir or Captain Rogers, should a security threat exist. As well as my multi-level threat assessment programming to ensure all occupants of Avengers Tower are safe and secure at all times.”

“I don’t want you here,” Bucky said immediately, tension clear in his voice and body.

“JARVIS is the tower, Buck,” Steve said, holding out a hand, hoping to calm his - _not his, damn it_ \- Omega. “He’s not a person and he can’t…exactly leave.”

“Cameras, motion sensors, heat sensors, microphones. Everything has to be off in this room.”

“Hey,” Steve said gently, “it’s not like you think. Tony invented JARVIS for comfort, the security came later when people were trying to kill him, and Tony and I are really the only people who can see the feeds up here. I can explain all the security features if you need, everything he does, but it’s to keep you safe, not to watch you.”

“No,” Bucky said, surprisingly calmly. “I spent seventy years in a fishbowl, monitored by strangers every time I so much as blinked. Having just one room cut off from the grid won’t matter to security. ‘Specially if it’s my room. Talk to Stark.” 

Steve gave Bucky a long look, seeing him calm but determined. He really, truly hated the thought of having JARVIS monitor him in any way.

“Fine, but you know that’s not true. You, me, and Nat could all bust through a hole like that, but I’ll see what I can do. I think JARVIS and Nat have some kind of agreement.”

“Indeed,” JARVIS answered, “Ms. Romanov allows only heat sensors and voice monitoring in her room. Clint does not allow video surveillance as well, neither does Dr. Banner, in his bedroom. Is there a compromise we can come to, Sergeant? I believe the heat sensors are all I require to ensure the security of your side of this floor.”

There was a pause and JARVIS said, “Sir has said that if you prefer, Sergeant, we can move you down two floors and disable all monitoring, but he cannot allow half of the Captain’s floor to be completely insecure.”

Bucky nodded.

“I’ll take that deal,” Bucky said immediately, heading to the duffel on the floor and picking it up. 

Looking away quickly, Steve dropped his hand and shoved both back into his pockets. Telling his instincts they were stupid, and his emotions to fuck off, he ignored how disappointing and panic-inducing having Bucky off his floor was. Life, he decided, would have been so much easier if he’d been born a Beta.

“The floor will be ready in a few hours,” JARVIS informed him. Bucky set down the duffle by his feet.

“What did you want to talk about?” Bucky asked, ignoring JARVIS once more, and rifling through the bag of candy.

“Uh,” Steve managed, as his emotions promptly whirled. 

When he didn’t say more, Bucky met his gaze and slowly lowered the candy back to his side.

“That bad, huh? Did you change your mind about having me here?”

“No,” Steve said, perhaps too forcefully. Bucky’s eyes widened and Steve took a breath. “There’s a few things. Could you, um, sit?”

Though the frown didn't leave his lips, Bucky sat. Steve took the couch to his right, pulling his hands out of his pockets once more and clasping them before him. Leaning forward on his elbows, he took a breath to calm himself.

“When we were together…”

Steve flushed, clearing his throat, and Bucky supplied, “When we had sex.”

The blunt description didn’t help Steve’s flush at all, and he glared down at his hands. He had been in the Army for Christ’s sake. Talking about sex shouldn’t be so damned embarrassing. Especially with a person he had it with.

“Yeah. I’m, um, apparently we were mistaken that biting was the only way to stop a…” Steve took another breath and dove in head first, “a bond, because we - I did. It’s… damaged, don’t know if you even noticed it, but I… It’s there and I’m…not myself, around you, because of it.”

Glancing up, Steve tried to get some idea of what Bucky was thinking. The Omega just watched him, eyes dark and body language strangely unreadable. He didn’t lash out, didn’t react in any outward way. Steve wasn’t sure Bucky even understood what he was telling him.

Steve licked his lips, his own nerves growing at the lack of reaction.

“You don’t, then,” he said, his throat tightening and his tongue feeling too big for his mouth, “feel it.” Shoving his hand through his hair, Steve nodded. “Okay, um, look, I… It really was an accident. I never meant to betray your trust like that. I… I thought maybe that was why you left….”

Bucky turned his eyes away from Steve, to the left and down, looking at the carpet, avoiding Steve’s gaze. It was such a strange action, that it stopped Steve talking altogether.

“I didn’t realise what I was feeling was the bond,” Bucky said into Steve’s silence. He was quiet, but clear, the words leaving no room for misinterpretation.

Bucky felt the bond too.

“I…” Steve didn’t know what to think, or feel with that knowledge. He had thought either Bucky felt it, or he didn’t. That he might not realize what it was had never once occurred to him. Not when Bucky had had so many temporary bonds over the decades. “Fuck.”

Leaning forward, Steve wrapped his arms around his head, trying to get his thoughts to stop spinning in circles. Bucky hadn’t left because he was like Hydra. He hadn’t challenged him, made him leave, hurt him. It was at once a lightening of the weight on his shoulders, and a crushing of his hope on how this conversation would go. Bucky hadn’t known, he had left simply because he didn’t trust Steve to keep his word about that damned paperwork. About something as important as Bucky’s _freedom_.

“I broke Hydra’s control because I learned to suppress the bonds,” Bucky said, again breaking the silence. “I suppressed them for long enough, hard enough, it became a completely subconscious action.” Bucky swallowed audibly. “I knew the trade off would be my complete inability to ever bond again, not the way I used to at the beginning.”

Unwinding his arms from his head, Steve stared. If Bucky thought had he had suppressed the bond, could it be that Steve _wasn’t_ broken? It was all…so much. Too much at once.

“I didn’t care at the time,” Bucky said, seeming unaware of Steve’s turmoil. “I couldn’t imagine a situation where a bond, however temporary, wouldn’t be forced on me.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Steve said desperately. “I swear to god, I didn’t mean to.”

Bucky sighed, leaning back, opening up, exposing more of his chest.

“I know,” the Omega said quietly, looking Steve in the eye for the first time since Steve had admitted to the bond.

“Then _why_?” Steve asked, his voice cracking on the word. “Why did you leave?”

Bucky let out a loud breath.

“It was always the plan,” he admitted finally. He didn’t sound challenging or apologetic, but there was something soft in his eyes. “Long before you came along I knew they would send somebody, someday. I had security codes of the various guards memorised, in the hopes it would come in handy eventually. The moment Fury had me packed for that show-and-tell session, I was on a mission. I’m sorry it was you in charge, but I would have ditched anyone Fury sent for me.”

“Would you,” Steve swallowed the anger and bitterness, reminding himself Bucky had offered him an _actual apology_. Closing his eyes, he took a breath, reigned in his temper and asked, “Would you have had sex with them, too? If it had been someone else in charge.”

_See, Pep?_ he thought. _I can act like an adult._

Bucky’s eyes softened and it was that softness that heralded bad news for Steve, when even the vicious Omega felt pity for him.

“You want the complete and utter truth?”

“Yes,” Steve said, his voice coming out as barely more than a whisper.

Bucky was quiet for a long moment, long enough Steve felt his belly twist with nervous pain.

“If it would have given me a way to escape, given me an advantage? Yes, I would have.” 

Bucky’s eyes were still soft, his voice even. For once in his life he wasn’t challenging Steve but his words were so much worse. Ducking his head, unable to meet Bucky’s gaze a moment longer. It was worse than Bucky asking him to leave, worse than thinking he had made Bucky run. He wasn’t even a mistake, just a means to an end.

“I see,” Steve said, trying to hold himself together.

“I don’t think you do,” Bucky said, his voice still soft.

“Then explain it to me,” Steve said, barely keeping his voice from cracking by making it harsher than he would have wanted. “Natasha seems to think we speak two completely different languages, so…keep it simple.”

“I didn’t gain anything bym sleeping with you. I already had my escape route ready,” Bucky said, watching him carefully. 

It was like talking with Natasha, words that sounded simple but meant things he never fully grasped.

“Then why did you do it?” Steve asked, his hand moving between them as if he could touch the thing that lay between them.

“Can you touch me?” Bucky asked out of nowhere, his dark eyes watching Steve carefully, body not betraying what he was thinking.

Steve was taken aback by the abrupt request and not fully certain what Bucky was asking.

“I… Touch you?” Wasn’t that what landed them in trouble in the first place?

“Yes,” Bucky said, even nodded to show how serious he was. Steve opened his mouth to ask why, but swiftly changed his mind. Bucky seemed to sense his confusion. “An experiment of sorts, if you need to know,”

Steve hesitated, the answer not really explaining much. Bucky often talked a lot, but he rarely revealed information about himself. That was why Steve often made assumptions, even if that wasn’t a very good excuse.

“All I want to do is touch you,” Steve said, “I can’t stop it. Just…tell me why?”

Bucky shook his head, long hair flying.

“Because I’m asking you to.” Bucky licked his lips, betraying the first signs of being nervous.

The words were a blow, further reminder that the Omega before him was a book Steve couldn’t read. Yet the request wasn’t one he could, or would, deny. Every inch of him wanted to touch Bucky. Steve was exhausted from the effort of _not_ touching him. 

“Okay,” Steve murmured.

Standing from the couch, he approached Bucky slowly. It was a rush, coming so close, with the intent to touch, when Bucky was just sitting there calmly, dark-eyes mysterious. Steve had thought it was torture when he thought he wasn’t supposed to touch at all, but now, faced with the blunt invitation, he found himself completely at a loss for what to do. Touch came so naturally to him, he rarely noticed before his hand was on his pack, but with Bucky it was impossible not to notice, or decide what was appropriate.

When he was close enough he could smell the faint whiff of sweat on Bucky’s skin, almost feel the heat of his body. Steve laid his left hand on Bucky’s upper arm. The way the bicep fit into his palm sent him right into the memory of their single night together. More specifically, afterward, when they had lain together after his rut had broken, and how easily Bucky let himself be held, how sweet he had been. It made Steve’s breath catch, his resolve not to do more collapsing about his ears.

As greedy for more as he was apprehensive, Steve slid his palm up Bucky’s arm. He felt the way Bucky’s grey shirt rasped against his palm, how warm the cloth was from Bucky’s skin. Bucky remained still, his dark, secretive eyes watching Steve as intently as he was watched. He didn’t lean into the touch, but he didn’t tense or turn away either.

Unable to stop, Steve slid his palm to Bucky’s neck. If any contact would be refused, it would be this. Yet all that happened was the Omega licked his lips, staring up at Steve with unfathomable eyes.

“Why am I doing this?” Steve asked again as he stared at Bucky’s now wet, inviting lips.

“Your touch,” Bucky said quietly, his breath fanning Steve’s wrist, “It doesn’t trigger me.”

Steve licked his own lips, his breath short.

“It’s because of the bond probably...”

“No,” Bucky interrupted, “It hasn’t ever triggered any of my instincts.” Bucky shifted to touch his cheek to Steve’s hand briefly. “Not in the Three Sisters. Not on the plane. Not in the medbay.”

Steve felt Bucky’s pulse pick up under his hand just before the Omega moved back, away from his touch.

“You are everything that I hate in an Alpha. Loud and sure of himself, more than a match for me physically. I should have hated you from first glance. But I _didn’t_ , and I had no idea what to do with that fact.”

“I’ve been trying not to want you from the moment I saw you,” Steve whispered. 

“That was the encroaching rut talking. My body produces wild amounts of hormones. Alphas always pant after me anyway,” Bucky said, standing up, and walking back towards the table with the sweets. He fingered the bag, but didn’t pull the candy out.

Steve smiled sadly, his entire body cold now that he wasn’t touching Bucky anymore.

“No, Buck, it wasn’t. It isn’t. If it was, I could… I could control it. You don’t… Jesus, you don’t know me well enough to know that no one gets to me like you do. Not anyone. And I can’t… I can’t _stop_. Before the rut, or the bond, and I’m aware that’s only hours, but…that’s what makes this so strong. We’re… We’re compatible.”

Focused on his sweets, slowly peeling the wrapper of an Almond Joy from the dark chocolate, Bucky didn’t look at Steve when he spoke.

“Maybe that explains my reaction to you.”

Hating the distance between them, Steve stepped closer, but kept the coffee table between them because it was what Bucky wanted.

“Other people’s touch bothers me,” Bucky said, his voice tense.

“I figured,” Steve said remembering Natasha in the first days of their acquaintance.

“You don’t understand Steve. It’s not that it makes me itchy or uncomfortable. It makes me me want to hurt them, permanently enough they wouldn't ever come close again. It’s like flipping a switch in my head. I can be calm and happy one moment, and then somebody comes too close and it’s like my mind, my whole body switches to fight-or-flight mode. I usually choose the fight response,” Bucky said dryly, his eyes dark and angry again. Steve had no idea who he was angry at. Hydra, the world? Himself?

“The fact that some Alphas can just put their hands all over me, can restrict my movement and I don’t feel the immediate urge to strangle them with their own intestines is confusing the hell out me,” Bucky looked calmer now, the anger gone as soon as it came, violent and unpredictable as usual.

Steve realised suddenly, with a visceral punch to the gut that Bucky used ‘some Alphas’ not ‘you’. It implied that _somebody_ other than Steve had touched him recently. In a rush, a memory of a few hours before came to him, the way Bucky said he wouldn’t pose again.

The hot rush of anger and jealousy nearly took Steve over the table. Maybe through it. And Bucky knew, if the way he slowly met Steve’s gaze said anything.

“Which other people? Alphas? Who was touching yo- _Shit_!” Turning away, Steve pressed his hands to his temples. “I’ve got no right, I know I’ve got no right, but you can’t. I can’t.” Whirling back around, a growl ripped from his chest as he said, “No one touches you, not ev- Not until it’s _over_.”

Bucky glared, his chest puffing with challenge that made Steve’s growl swell.

“Those aren’t the kinds of orders I’ll take from you.” And again Bucky’s voice dropped registers, edging into a growl. His shoulders went back, his chin lowered making him look like a bull about to charge.

“I can’t control it!” Steve shouted before he could stop himself, arms flying out to the sides. “Don’t you understand that? I don’t want to hurt anyone because - For… for…” Steve’s hands clenched into fists, tight enough his skin pulled over his knuckles. “I got no right,” he said, voice low and dangerous, “You ain’t mine, no matter what I want, and this… This bond, it makes me crazy. After, when it’s gone, I can control it and if you… You want someone else, then fine. Just…not until after, because I _can’t_.”

Bucky huffed and turned to look to the right, exposing his neck to Steve. As angry as he was, Steve still knew it was deliberate. Having his Omega acknowledge him, submit to him, drained the possessive rage right out of Steve, replacing it with a rush of what felt dangerously like joy. 

“Why would I come back if I wanted somebody else?” Bucky murmured, keeping his face turned to the side but watching Steve from the corner of his eye. 

That stopped Steve short, his stupid heart racing at what that could mean. If he wasn’t getting it wrong again. Was he getting it wrong again? He was _constantly_ getting things wrong with Bucky. Still a man this sensitive about his social status as an Omega would never expose his throat by accident. It gave Steve hope.

“You gave a lot of reasons for coming back,” Steve said slowly, knowing he was holding onto hope’s double-edged sword again, “That wasn’t one of them.”

“We were good together,” Bucky said, his face tilting a little towards Steve, still watching him from the corner of his eye, his throat still exposed. “You were good,” Bucky added, his voice slow and warm, inviting.

Steve’s mouth went dry.

“Buck, I’m…really not good at understanding the things you don’t spell out for me.”

Bucky shifted to look directly at Steve, his dark eyes meeting Steve’s as fearlessly as ever. His shoulders eased from their previous, defensive position into something softer, easier. He moved towards Steve, quickly encroaching into his private space. It was abruptly too hard to breath, too hard to keep still, not to lift a hand and close that slight distance between them. He’d take Bucky in his arms, scent him, mark him, and pin him against a wall… 

“I liked how you felt inside me,” Bucky purred, his voice dropping to that sexy, dark growl that did things to Steve. “I liked that edge of pain when your knot swelled inside me.” Bucky pressed closer, almost touching Steve, so close he could smell the Omega and nothing else. “You took your lesson well,” Bucky rasped. “You _nailed_ my prostate.” 

“Bucky,” Steve gasped, leaning forward because if he wasn’t going to touch he _had_ to at least be closer.

The Omega tilted closer as well, so close Steve could feel his breath on his skin. 

“You made me feel good; so good,” Bucky went on, still purring at him. “You made me come, and then come again and, when I thought I couldn’t do it any more, you wrung the orgasms out of me, all the time keeping me tied to you, so stretched out on your knot I couldn’t even see straight.” 

Bucky shifted and the tip of his nose brushed over Steve’s cheek, his chin. The touch was electrifying, making Steve break out goosebumps. Made it hard to remember why diving into sex with Bucky had been a bad idea in the first place.

“Nobody’s made me feel like that before,” Bucky’s voice was getting softer, quieter, the last words almost a whisper.

It was too much. Steve couldn’t hold back, wrapping an arm around Bucky’s waist and pulling him bodily against his chest. It shocked him anew, that Bucky went with the touch, his body soft and accepting of the touch, following the cues seamlessly. With the other hand, Steve tipped Bucky’s chin back and nosed against his scent glands, inhaling the spicy warm smell that made him remember all the things they’d done together, growling with satisfaction even when he knew he had to stop. Had to pull back, but another moment with his Omega, pretending it was what he needed…

It was like cutting his own arms off to stop, to pull away from Bucky and hold onto his shoulders to ensure the Omega stayed at arms reach.

“I want you so badly,” Steve confessed, “I’ve always wanted you, but… I don’t think we want the same things, Buck. I want everything. Sex, bonding, romance, dates and fights that we make up from, and understanding each other. Growing old together,” Steve smiled wryly, “and for us that’d be a long, long time. Am I wrong? Do you want…all of that? Any of it?” 

Bucky frowned at him, looking lost all of a sudden.

“But I already told you I wanted you.”

“Well,” Steve drawled, “we don’t exactly communicate well. What’s it mean,” he took a half step forward, lifting the hand on Bucky’s flesh shoulder so his fingers would brush his jaw, “to want me? What do you want, Buck?”

“This,” he said, dragging his nose against Steve’s skin again. Steve swallowed down the tidal wave of want and disappointment that threatened to swamp him. “The touch, the sex... This thing between us, the way it makes me feel.” Bucky shifted close enough they were now touching chest to chest. The heat between them was unbearable. “We were so damn good together.” Steve almost jumped when he felt Bucky’s hands on his hips. “If we don’t bite, we can do this.” He worked his fingers under the hem of Steve’s shirt obviously searching for bare skin. “We can touch however we like and when you’re in rut again? You can stuff me full of your knot,” Bucky promised, touching his lips to Steve’s jaw in almost kiss. 

He was so close, so warm, smelling of Omega and his and desire, but his words, while so close to what Steve wanted to hear, were bitterly not right. Steve wanted a bondmate. He wanted a lifelong partner, sex, but a companion. He wanted all that heat and the mercurial moods that threatened to burn him from one moment to the next. 

Bucky wasn’t offering that, though. He was offering sex. A relationship based on the physical connection between them. And it would be good, Steve was certain of that. The very thought that he would be allowed to touch that body without censure, of knowing he would have Bucky under him during a rut again, stretched so wide on his cock they both were mindless with it, was tempting. Except it wouldn’t be enough. Steve would always itch to bite, would _want_ to bite every time Bucky was close. It would be torture, both for himself and Bucky, if he ever gave in and broke his vow not to. 

Gently, he pushed Bucky back and away.

“I need…more than that, Buck. I want a bondmate. I want more than someone satisfying my urges and I… I’m sorry that’s not you.”

Bucky reared back, the easy openness vanishing. He was guarded again, opening his mouth, and Steve braced himself for something terrible and hurtful. It would hurt, he knew, that’s why he’d been so afraid to walk in here and have this conversation. 

Bucky closed his mouth without saying anything, hard enough that Steve heard his teeth clink, and he turned to the duffel on the floor, kicking it hard enough it thumped on the wall.

“So I’m not good enough now, Rogers?”

“God, Bucky, no,” Steve said, wanting to reach out and knowing that moment had passed, “That’s the whole problem. I’ll never be happy with just a part of you, because you’re… You’re everything I want and I can’t… I can’t have. It’s not fair to either of us if I agree to this, to never making you mine.”

“So what? It’s permanent bond or nothing? Fuck you Rogers, just fuck you,” Bucky growled, pacing angrily the length of the room.

“Bucky,” Steve protested, holding his feet glued to the ground when he wanted to rush over and make this right. Except, he couldn’t. “I can’t… If I said yes, if I compromised, I know I’d never be able to keep my promise. I’d slip, I _would_ , and then… God, Bucky. I can’t do that to you. Not again.”

Bucky growled again, low and mean, pacing the room, but said nothing. 

“I know,” Steve said miserably, “I’m so sorry. It’s not… God, this is stupid, but it’s not you. It’s me.” When Bucky didn’t reply, just paced and glared at the air, Steve took a painful step backwards. “I’ll… I’m gonna go. If you need anything, ask JARVIS, or…Sam…”

There was still no answer, just angry, furious pacing, and Steve thought he understood. Bucky was holding himself back. Even if he couldn’t give Steve what he wanted, he cared enough not to be cruel. That simple fact made it even harder to leave the room, fleeing to the roof where Clint or Natasha would have stashed a carton of cigarettes for him if he needed.

And god, did he need to smoke right now.


	22. Chapter 22

Natasha wasn’t expecting anyone to use the agility course at two in the morning. Most of the guys used the punching bags, preferring to work the excess energy out in a ‘manly’ way. She preferred something that required intense focus and control. It cleared her mind, made her muscles ache pleasantly. It was asylum of sorts, a place of relaxation, much like the yoga and meditation was for Bruce, or the punching bags were for Steve.

Having bypassed the changing room, already dressed in her workout clothes, she palmed the lock on the door. her free hand held her bag, containing only tape, water, spare hairbands, and a small towel. The moment the door slid open she heard the rhythmic _thump, thump, thump_ of somebody training on the springy matts. The gym was dark, though. Whoever it was hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights.

Reaching inside, she flipped them on and they illuminated the gym. The whole left side was lined with thick mats that ran from wall to wall. The walls were lined too, allowing for easy practice flipping off them, or running up them. On the mats was Barnes. Barefoot, dressed in tight black sweatpants and a light grey t-shirt, damp with perspiration beneath the armpits and around the neck. His hair was gathered into a tight bun, wisps escaping the tie and sticking to his sweaty skin. He was doing backflips with stunning speed. Three, four, five sharp, fast backflips in a row, all executed perfectly. 

Landing on the last one, his knees folded, his body smoothly falling into a roll that ended in a smooth handstand. He sprung from his hands, muscles in his flesh arm bunching as he pushed himself off the floor, hit the wall, jumped off it and began the backflips again, this time in the opposite direction. As she watched, she noticed how the metal arm matched the flesh one perfectly. It didn’t once lag behind or move a little too fast. She surmised the arm had to be connected to his nervous system, operating the same way anyone else’s arm would. She wondered if it would be subject to the same weaknesses, if it was controlled by the same nerves.

Barnes ended the last set of recklessly fast backflips with another roll and handstand, but instead of using the wall for a springboard, he backflipped in the opposite direction again, landing on his feet facing Natasha.

“What are you doing here?” Barnes snapped, standing there panting and sweaty, looking both attractive and vaguely threatening. As usual, his default reaction to anything unplanned was instant wariness and aggression. Natasha didn't mind so much, as long as he controlled his own urges.

“Same as you,” Natasha answered dryly, raising an eyebrow at him. “What’s got your bee in a bonnet?”

“I wanted to do something. Move. I’m bored as hell,” he grumbled walking towards the benches. Grabbing a blue towel, he rubbed at his face, wiping off the sweat, but still keeping his body tilted to keep Natasha in his sights.

“You’ve been here less than a day. How are you bored already?” she asked, moving into the gym and starting to stretch.

“I’ve had enough of doing nothing. I want to _move_.” 

He sounded irritable and Natasha finally thought she understood.

“Okay.” Natasha straightened, pulling her arms over her head. “Spar with me.”

That caught his attention and she smiled as his head turned sharply in her direction. He looked her up and down; quick, assessing, impersonal.

“You sure?” he asked, rolling his shoulders and taking a step towards her.

Natasha laughed.

“I trained Steve when he came out of the ice,” she said, keeping her tone teasing and light, “Super-soldiers aren’t new territory. Come on; it’ll be fun.”

“Fighting someone trained the way you were might be new,” he murmured, a dark edge to his voice. The plates of his arm moved suddenly, without reason or outward provocation, changing their position slightly, with a dry, metallic rustle.

Though her heart rate sped up, Natasha made herself roll her eyes exaggeratedly.

“Come on, Barnes. You on the team, or not? Spar with me. Let me help you get that energy out.” She smiled, coy and suggestive, knowing he would never, ever fall for it. “I get something out of it, too. Not a lot of guys stronger than me, and better trained.”

“I guess you at least won’t cry afterwards,” he said finally

Natasha laughed, eager to show him just who was going to cry at the end of the match. Grabbing her tape, she quickly wrapped up her hands and met Barnes in the center of the room. To get even for under estimating her, she threw herself at him. To her surprise, he matched her, blow for blow. Not only that, he was far more agile than she’d suspected of someone as heavy as he was, matching her own speed and flexibility. 

Neither tired easily, nor flinched from pain, and eventually both were bruised, panting, tired, and surprisingly tied for the points they’d jokingly kept track of. That was Natasha’s biggest surprise, though. Barnes wasn’t as competitive as Steve, enjoying the sparing as a game, playful and teasing even as they both threw their all at each other. Even when she played dirty, going for his knees and joints, aiming for pressure points that would drop an experienced fighter in a whimpering mess, he evaded and gave as good as he got. Counted with a smirk.

It didn’t surprise her to find their training was very similar. Some of their moves were clearly taught by the same masters as they found themselves in a stalemate over and over, neither taking the other down. Just the points, the taps, and blows, they met out in even measure.

They would have fought themselves until collapse if the elevator hadn’t slid open at four and discharged a bedraggled Steve. Even from this distance she could smell the smoke on him, the state of his hair likely caused by the wind on the roof. He took two steps and both he, and Barnes, froze.

Natasha didn’t. 

As Barnes’ eyes grew wide, then narrowed, she went for his legs. Knocking them from beneath him, she launched herself on his back, twisting their legs together and leaning back. With her weight on his ass and lower back, his legs locked by her arms, the position would have made anyone else helpless. Barnes, with his arm, could have bodily lifted them both from the ground, but it would have hurt and she wasn’t letting go. In a real fight he probably would have prioritized getting free over any pain or damage to himself, but this was sparing and she had gotten him good. 

After a moment, he reached the same conclusion and tapped out. Not as prideful in friendly sparring, as Steve, then, either. Their Alpha had pulled a muscle getting her off him.

Immediately after the tap, Natasha let him up, unlocking her legs and standing up.

“Well, look at that, Barnes,” Natasha drawled, “You have a weakness after all.”

The man growled at her instead of responding. Quickly she held up both hands, palms outward, as he eyebrows shot toward her hairline. Grabbing his towel, she tossed it to him and he just grunted. More than a little confused by the change in demeanor, she glanced at Steve who was staring at Bucky with little hearts in his eyes. His body language was very tense though, his arms folded in front of him, defensive.

Wonderful.

“Rough night?” Natasha asked Steve, though the answer was fairly evident.

Though his mouth opened, it closed again a moment later and Steve just shrugged. Great, so no one was talking now.

“You knew I was here,” Barnes snapped, “So what do you want?”

Eyebrows drawing together in a frown, Steve glanced around the room and back at the elevator as if he was contemplating fleeing.

“I wasn’t…paying attention,” he said slowly. “I can go…?”

“Suddenly, you care about my opinion?” Barnes grumbled, tossing the towel back onto the bench.

Natasha stared at the way Barnes suddenly attacked. Where had that anger come from? 

The challenge in Barnes’ voice straightened Steve’s spine. He took a breath, the same one he took before doing something reckless and stupid and stubborn, and turned sharply on his heel. Without another word, he went to the punching bags, grabbed the tape, and started wrapping his knuckles. Purposefully not looking Barnes’ way for a moment.

“You two are fighting _already_?” Natasha blurted.

_Both_ of them growled at her, though it was Steve’s that sent the curl of unease swirling through her stomach.

“Oh, shut up,” she snapped at them both, her heart being just that small bit faster. “The hell happened?”

“Nothing,” Steve said shortly.

“Apparently, the good Captain has exceedingly high standards,” Barnes barked at the same time.

Natasha saw the moment Steve’s weariness took over his mouth.

“At least I’m capable of human connection,” he snarled, abandoning the tape with only one hand wrapped. Turning to the bag, Natasha winced as he threw his first punch. His skin was going to split, but she knew telling him that would do no good.

Barnes raised himself like an offended cat and Natasha swore she could see the claws coming out. She winced ahead of time. When it came to arguing, Barnes was the more ruthless of the two. Steve wouldn’t stand a chance, not as strung-out as he looked.

“It’s not a human connection you want,” Barnes said with artificial sweetness, “it’s an unreachable fantasy that doesn't take into account any _actual_ people.”

“The fuck do you care?” Steve grunted, his words punctuated by blows to the bag, “What I wanted hasn’t mattered to you before. Why’s it matter to you now?”

Natasha froze, caught between them and wanting to scream but knowing it would only make things worse.

“Oh, now that I don’t do everything you want, it’s all my fault? Funny how short your memory is. You sure you didn't get a knock-off version of the serum after all, because your memory does seem to be extremely bad?”

Steve laughed, grabbing the bag as the bitter sound left his throat. Then he was back to it, the blows vicious and sharp.

“Because we did _only_ what I wanted. Didn’t ask, over and _fucking_ over what you wanted. Don’t. Remember. You. Ever. Asking.” 

Staring at the bag as it swayed with the blows, Natasha opened her mouth to stop him, when Barnes interrupted.

“Ha fucking ha. You tell me you want me, then when you get what you want, I’m suddenly not good enough? Not up to your stupid, unrealistic, god-only-knows-what expectations? Such a fucking Alpha.” 

Barnes growled, taking a step towards Steve, his shoulders back and chin lowered. He was angry, Natasha realized. Angry at Steve this time, almost violent with the force of the emotion.

The punching bag’s supports cracked and buckled, the bag Tony had made just so Steve couldn’t break it, and flew across the room to crash against the wall. Steve stared after it, shoulders heaving with each angry breath. He hadn’t even broken a sweat, but the skin on his knuckles had split like she’d predicted, bleeding, but healing even as she stared.

“That’s right,” Steve said flatly, “just another fucking Alpha, right Barnes? Wanting what you can’t give?” He turned, meeting Barnes’ glare. “Sorry, guess you got what you wanted in the end. Found that one thing that makes me just like the rest of them, huh? Guess I’m just another disappointment.”

Ah, shit, Natasha thought.

“I’m not the problem here, Rogers,” Barnes said almost sweetly, his attitude growing even nastier. “It’s you who’s finding faults.”

“No, of course not,” Steve said sarcastically, “You’re _never_ the problem, Barnes. It’s always everyone else. That’s all right. Go on, tell me how else I’ve wronged you.”

Barnes moved closer to Steve, reckless and angry. Natasha was half-convinced this would come to blows in seconds, except Steve was so passive. Barnes pushed at Steve’s chest, and Steve went, letting Barnes push him around. If Barnes threw a punch now, Steve would just take it. He’d take anything Barnes dished out.

“I’m not the one who spouted pretty words of second chances and acceptance, only to change his fucking mind like a twelve-year-old girl!”

“No,” Steve said, words calm, but eyes glinting with anger, “You’re the one mocking what I want, disregarding what I want, and pushing me around because I wouldn’t give in.” Steve’s lips twisted in an ugly smile. “Sound familiar, Buck?”

“Steven Grant Rogers,” Natasha growled coming closer to the men and stopping just a breath away from forcing herself between them, “that is enough. Take a walk.”

For a moment, she hoped that would be it. Steve looked at her, his shoulders rising defensively, but Barnes wasn’t done.

“Now you’re trying to turn it on me when it’s clearly your problem?” Barnes shouted, body tense as a string, violence barely held in check. “Real classy Rogers… Almost as classy you giving your word and then breaking it!” 

Natasha stared agape at how cruel Barnes was being to Steve. In the Three Sisters, Barnes had needled Steve, but always managed to keep from actually hurting him. This? This was _aimed_ to hurt and it did. Steve reared back, his expression shutting down. Locking down to the mask he’d worn after coming out of the ice. The one that said “I’m fine” when nothing was. 

“Steve, out!” Natasha pointed at the door. She pointed Barnes at the other end of the room and barked, “Barnes, shut up!” 

Simultaneously, she pushed Steve bodily towards the door. Steve’s back, under her hand was so tense it felt like a stone. Whatever had happened between them cut them both to the core. When she looked over her shoulder at Barnes, still standing where she’d left him, his face was pale, his mouth a tight line, and his shoulders curled forward. It looked, for a brief moment, as if he was hunching over in pain. Then he noticed her looking and straightened out, hiding all signs of distress.

Steve didn’t resist her guidance, going easily to the door. In the elevator, she slammed the button for roof access and stepped back. Briefly, Steve’s eyes flickered to her before moving away again. It didn’t make her feel any better to know he understood why she was staying behind and not by his side.

As the doors closed, she said quietly, “JARVIS, call Sam, tell him Steve...” Natasha hesitated, glancing at Barnes and recalling her brief glimpse behind his mask. “Tell him Steve’s on the roof and probably needs more cigarettes.”

It was a mark of how advanced JARVIS was that the AI didn’t respond out loud. The locking panel in her sight line blinked twice and she knew she had been heard. Any reminder that the AI was observing them could push Barnes into violence nobody wanted. Right now, she had to calm him down. Distract him, maybe get him to talk to her about what the fuck had happened. She didn’t expect that to work, but she would try. 

Turning around, she eyed the Omega. 

He was tense, pacing in a tight circle. Now that he knew she would look, he was guarding his body language, hiding his emotions. All she could see was tension and the banked but ever-present violence. Whatever this fight was about, it affected him, maybe as strongly as it did Steve. Still, she knew Steve well enough to know he would take Barnes’ words to the heart, would feel them burn for a long time. 

What Barnes felt besides anger, she had no idea. What she did know was that she was the enemy now. Barnes thought she would be solely on Steve’s side and was choosing to protect himself by distancing himself. Erasing the first stirrings of camaraderie they had managed to build before Steve arrived.

And she was on Steve’s side. Always, but that didn’t mean she would attack Barnes, or blame him for upsetting Steve. She was Steve’s XO and she would do what he would want her to do. And, no matter how nasty they got sniping at each other, Steve would want her to calm Barnes now. Fight or no, Steve would have hurt like mad when Barnes was gone. They were bonded, but Steve was also team leader. Holding the team together always came first.

Firmly, but without heat, she said, “You hold all the cards, Barnes. All of them. So stop throwing them like knives. That being said,” she walked closer, “Steve was a dick. You want to spar some more?”

Barnes glared at the mats.

“I want to break things.”

Natasha nodded. That wasn’t an uncommon desire in the Avenger’s Tower.

“There’s a room for that. Come on, I’ll show you.”

Instead of following, Barnes turned a tight circle, facing her and fixing her with his cold eyes.

“Why?” he asked.

“Why what?” Natasha shot back.

He growled, low and long, not a friendly sound. They both knew she’d understood, that she was playing dumb. That wasn’t the point. Barnes needed to learn to use his words, not rely on others to translate. Raising an unimpressed eyebrow, she waited.

“Why,” he said through clenched teeth, “aren’t you… Are you staying?”

Natasha let her expression soften.

“You’re part of the team, Barnes. Steve’s got Sam. And you’ve got…?” When he just glared at her, she smiled. “Me. You aren’t alone anymore, all right?”

“Steve is your Alpha,” he said, and hello paranoia. He wouldn’t just trust her, was too stubborn for that.

“Wonderful observational skills,” she said mildly, setting her hands on her hips, “but I’m still _here_ and we can go break things…if you want. We can go binge on ice cream and you can tell me what a dick Steve is. Whatever you need, Barnes, because being part of a team means there’s always someone on your side. Tonight, it’s me. You get it yet?”

Barnes curled his metal hand into a fist, the metal arm whining high and sharp when it had been completely silent before, making Natasha think it was deliberate. An intimidation tactic. Steve was right about one thing, Barnes pushed and pushed until people failed him. Until they weren’t perfect.

“I want to _destroy_ something,”

Natasha supposed this was a win too. While he hadn’t accepted her offer of friendship, he hadn’t rejected it outright either. And he had stayed. Natasha thought Steve would never forgive her if she let Barnes leave the tower now. 

Turning on her heel, she headed for the door.

“Okay, let’s go break shit.”

\----

“You have to understand that I have a vision,” Mrs. Millington said, her dark red nails dancing scant inches from Michael’s face as she gesticulated excitedly. Her husband, thirty years her senior, was sitting in the chair farthest away from them, engrossed in his smartphone. The man hadn’t looked up once during the entire consultation.

“Right honey?” Mrs. Millington called at her husband, not glancing at him. “It’s very important that you realise our vision. This garden has to be a place of style and class. Like me, you understand?” 

Michael did his best not to look at the skirt that basically rode up to show her ass when she walked, or the cleavage so deep he could see her belly button, or the white silk blouse and dark red bra beneath. He nodded.

Class. Yeah, sure.

Despite his thoughts, Michael nodded, trying vainly to keep the smile on his face, and pushed another drawing of the garden sculptures he had prepared beforehand across his desk.

“Don’t get me wrong, I think those…twisty…things,” she made a vague gesture at the drawings, and Michael tried to remember that killing his clients was not good for his bank account. Even if it would preserve his sanity. “But I think our guests would like to see something more…earthy, more entrenched in reality…”

Michael could feel his eyes glazing over as he repeated to himself the phrase _entrenched in reality_ while looking at fucking garden columns. 

There was flash from the corner of his eye and Michael turned his head to look at his phone. It was on silent for the meeting as Michael made it a rule to treat his clients the same way a banker would, with all due focus and respect. It was what put the food on his table and money in his pocket. Some clients, however, tested his patience. Like Mrs. Millington. He used his right hand to push more drawings at her while simultaneously swiping the phone from the table surface to take a look at the message flashing on the screen.

**Unknown** : Your advice sucks.

Michael frowned at the device, then shot a glance at Ms. Millington to check on her. The woman hadn’t even noticed, too busy waving the printout at her husband, who still hadn't looked up from his phone.

**Michael** : Who are you? Why are you texting me?

**Unknown** : I’m the person your drunk self coerced into posing.

Frowning harder, Michael tried to remember when the last time somebody posed for him was. He didn't paint people often, that kind of art rarely spoke to him for whatever reason. The last time had been… Quickly he typed out a reply.

**Michael** : Sex on the hoof?

**Unknown** : Is sex the only thing on your mind?

Biting his lip, Michael made sure not to laugh. Vaguely, he heard Mrs. Millington say something about the transcendence of nature. It was honestly better he didn't listen too closely, he decided, lest he strangle his client after all.

**Michael** : No. Also food. 

**Michael** : And why it’s a bad idea to kill my clients. X_X =/= $v$

Michael pulled up his contact list and added the unknown number as SexOnTheHoof. When he finished, a new text message came through.

**SexOnTheHoof** : what the hell is that thing at the end? The last one seems more my speed than yours. Still, your advice sucks, so maybe you deserve whatever the client did to you.

**Michael** : Why? What happened? Hero boy?

**Michael** : It’s a dead face which does not equal a happy money face

**SexOnTheHoof** : You are odd. I listened to your advice. found him. talked.

**Michael** : and? Sex?

**SexOnTheHoof** : No. Nothing. 

**Michael** : What did he say? Was he happy you came back? What happened?

**SexOnTheHoof** : he said something strange about dates and then told me bond or nothing.

All amusement vanishing, Michael frowned at his phone.

**Michael** : If you don’t want to bond, no one has the right to make you. What was the strange thing about dates?

**Michael** : You need me to come kick his ass i will. You saw my legs.

**SexOnTheHoof** : I would like to see you actually try. You would be surprised about the bonds.

**Michael** : Hey, offer stands. Surprised by what?

**SexOnTheHoof** : People can and will force a bond on Omegas if they can get away with it.

Michael’s stomach sank into his shoes.

“... so I think the flamingoes adorned with rose quartz would look best on the north side...”

The last thing Michael cared about right then was fucking flamingo statues.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Millington, but it seems something urgent has come up. We will need to reschedule.”

“But,” Mrs. Millington stared at him, mouth half open, “my statues.”

“It’s really important,” he smiled his widest, most charming smile, even as he was rounding the corner of his desk, gently pulling her up from the chair and nudging her towards the door. The woman’s watery eyes watched him for a moment, before she snapped her lips shut and huffed. Snatching up her purse, she gestured imperiously to Mr. Millington, and they both swept from his office.

Trusting them to see themselves out, Michael sighed with relief and snapped out a quick text to Bucky.

**Michael** : Can I call you?

As he waited, Michael sat there, chewing on his nail as he watched his phone anxiously. The words about forced bonding swam before his eyes. He wasn’t surprised, no. Michael wasn’t naive enough to know these things didn’t happen. What he was, was horrified, because if he’d sent Bucky back to someone who would abuse him, he would never forgive himself.

When the phone lit up with an incoming call from SexOnTheHoof, he blew a sigh of relief.

“Hey, Bucky,” Michael said after hitting accept call.

“You remember my name,” came the slow, raspy voice from the other end of the line.

Michael laughed.

“Of course I remember your name. You remember mine?”

“Michael,” the Omega answered dutifully. 

“Are you okay?” Michael rushed to ask. “Do you need help?” 

The words about the bonds were still floating before him.

“Whoa, tiger, calm down,” Bucky stopped his questions. “Do I look like somebody that can’t take care of myself?”

“Bucky,” Michael sighed, grabbing his chair and swiveling it so he could sit again, “Everyone needs help sometimes, and if this guy is trying to force a bond on you…”

“I don’t know what he’s trying to do. I thought… I guess it doesn’t matter what I thought.” 

Bucky sounded tired. And sad. Bitter. So very unlike the wry, but good natured guy Michael had met that he had to doublecheck he actually was the same person.

“It matters to me?” Michael offered, uncertain if he was overstepping his bounds. The thing was, Bucky struck him as a guy who needed a friend. As far as Michael was concerned, you could never have enough friends. 

There was silence on the other end of the line, long enough that Michael had to check they weren’t accidentally disconnected. 

Nope, still there.

“Bucky?”

“…Thanks.” 

Just one word, but it sounded choked, surprised, as if nobody had told the Omega that he mattered before.

“Yeah, buddy,” Michael answered, even more worried now. “Where are you? You want me to come get you?”

“New York,” Bucky said, “Manhattan.”

A few hours away, then, but Michael would leave right then if Bucky needed him to.

“Damn it. Still, if you need it I can be there in a bit.”

“Why do it for somebody you’ve only met once?”

Michael chuckled, pushing his hair out of his eyes.

“Don’t trust too easily, do you?” Bucky didn’t answer, but Michael didn’t need him to. “I told you, everyone needs help sometimes. I encouraged you to go to him. If that put you in any danger… Just say it, and I’m on my way. I’ll help you, if you’ll let me.”

“No, I… I’m okay, I think. He’s not forcing me to do anything.” Bucky’s voice dropped, sullen and bitter. “I’m not good enough.”

“What?” Michael asked, incredulous. “You?”

“I told him,” Bucky said, “I told him we were great together, and I wanted him, and that I hadn’t realized we’d bonded, and he… He said stupid things about dating, and _then_ that I had to bond with him, or nothing. When I said no, he said that was it.”

Michael scowled at the painting on the wall. It was of another Alpha he’d had a short, angry, affair with. The relationship had been taboo, but it had been incredible while it lasted. Right up until their first rut together, when they’d thought they could get through it without one trying to kill the other. They’d been wrong, but Michael had kept the painting as a reminder that love was found in the strangest of§ places.

“But you’re staying?”

Bucky sighed and grumbled, “He kind of gave me a job and an apartment.”

Michael blinked, leaning back in his chair and putting his feet up. Apparently the Alpha was pretty rich.

“But won’t have sex with you?”

“Not if I don’t bond with him,” Bucky said, then growled. “It’s so stupid! He’s such a hypocrite!”

“Hey, hey,” Michael said gently, “Calm down. We’ll figure this out. Sounds like you want him pretty bad.”

“I…” Michael could hear the reluctance on the other end of the phone. “I do, but...he said I’ll never be good for him and I… Maybe he’s right about that.”

Both of Michael’s feet crashed to the floor as he abruptly realized what he should have kept asking from the beginning.

“Bucky, did the guy _say_ those words? Literally say them? Exactly that way?”

“Huh?”

“Did he say, ‘bond with me, or get the hell out?’”

Bucky was quiet on the other end of the line. Suspiciously quiet.

“He meant it,” Bucky said defensively.

“I like you Bucky, I really do. You are an honest-to-god walking wet dream, and I adore you for it. But you are oblivious as hell. Did he _say_ it?”

Now Bucky sounded unsure.

“Kind of?” 

Michael closed his eyes and sighed a sigh of relief before he felt the need to bang his head against the wall.

“What, exactly, did he say, Bucky?”

“He said… He said that he wanted - that he _needed_ more than someone to satisfy his urges. More than ‘just sex’, whatever the hell that means. That he wanted a bondmate.”

Michael looked at the portrait again.

“What do you think about those things?”

“What things?” B asked sullenly, obviously miserable.

Michael got up and went to the small fridge he kept in his studio. Pulling out an opened bottle of white wine he’d left there, he opened it and sniffed. It smelled good, so he took a deep pull. He had a feeling he would need alcohol to get through this conversation, just like the last.

“Bond things, relationship things.”

“I already told him I wanted him! And that we can have sex whenever!”

Michael looked at his mostly empty bottle and realized just the one wouldn't be enough. 

“Bucky, what do you think a bond is for?” he asked patiently

“Sex,” the answer came immediately, “Procreation. I can’t have kids, but I like sex, and I don’t see why I have to bond to have it.”

“And?” Michael prompted before Bucky admitted he couldn't have kids hit him. Damn. “I’m sorry, by the way, about the kids thing.”

There was confused silence on the other end of the line.

“We talking facts, or myths told to kids?” Bucky finally asked, ignoring Michael's second comment.

“Facts,” Michael said with some amusement.

“Sex, procreation, and control.”

Without hesitation, Michael lifted the bottle and finished it in one, long gulp. The burn of alcohol did nothing for the bitter taste in his mouth. He knew Omegas had it harder than Alphas in life, but it always shocked him when he met somebody this bitter, this disillusioned with how things were between designations.

“It’s not,” Michael said quietly, getting up to look for more booze. “It’s not about control, Bucky. Bonding, it’s about bringing the two partners together. Helping them understand each other, to build a real relationship out of nothing but sex and hormones and drives that are impossible to control half the time. It’s about finding love.”

“I’ve been bonded before,” Bucky admitted suddenly, his voice low and cold. “It wasn’t anything like what you said. None of them.”

Michael closed his eyes, hating his suspicions were being confirmed. 

“I want you to listen real close here, okay, Buck? What you went through wasn’t bonding, it was abuse. Like being raped; it’s not the same with someone who cares about you. It’s not how it’s supposed to be. That doesn’t… It doesn’t mean you gotta bond with this guy, all right? No one can make you do that, but if you’ve been abused, and he told you he needed a bond, it was a warning, not an ultimatum.”

“Warning?

“Relationships are about communication, Buck-o. If the guy can’t stand the thought of not bonding with you, and he agreed to be in a relationship without a bond, he’d be a pretty shitty dude. A liar.”

Bucky scoffed.

“Like he can’t hold himself back.”

Michael couldn’t stop the short growl of irritation that left him.

“It’s not that easy,” he said. “Do you know why Alphas can’t be together?”

“Uh,” Bucky said, not understanding the segue. 

Michael didn’t wait for him to respond further.

“Because when we go into rut, we’ll tear each other apart. No matter how we feel about each other when we’re normal. In a rut it’s about territory, about finding an Omega and making them yours. Biting, Bucky. Bonding. Claiming. It’s not… It’s _not_ easy, even when…or especially because you’re in love.”

“You sound like you’re talking from experience.”

Michael swallowed; he really needed that drink.

“I am,” he admitted. “I had a lover once, an Alpha. We were serious about making it work. Living together. During the first and only rut, we tried spending it together. I sent him to the hospital. I didn’t… We broke up soon after, but I loved him. I loved him and I… I need a drink.”

“Michael…”

“I’m okay,” he said quickly, “This ain’t about me and it happened a long time ago. It’s about you understanding your hero was telling you his expectations. They’re not demands, but if you can’t meet them, it’s not fair to either of you to have a relationship. Now, tell me _exactly_ what he wanted, and what you feel about each of those things.”

“Uh...”

Michael frowned.

“What does ‘uh’ mean?”

“I might not have paid attention?”

For a moment, Michael wasn’t sure even what to say to that. Then he blurted, “How could you not have paid attention to the thing you were arguing about?!”

There was sheepish, guilty silence.

“His shirt was really stretched,” Bucky said haltingly, “over his pecs. Like, a lot. And his nipples were kinda visible under it. And he smelled. Me. He’d just… He did that thing… Smelling me and I couldn’t… Think.”

Finally, Michael’s search paid off as he finally found a half-finished bottle of whisky in a desk drawer, but was too stunned to actually open it.

“Wait. You’re telling me, you were too busy ogling the man to listen to him? Christ, Bucky. So what are you doing calling me and not talking to him?”

“I…”

Michael groaned, uncapping the whiskey and drinking straight from this bottle, too.

“What did you do?” he demanded when he put it down.

“I…” Bucky sounded lost, small when he admitted, “I said something and it…really hurt him. He’s been… All night and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“What did you say?” Michael said, “No, wait, on a scale of one to completely fucked up, how bad was it?”

“...completely fucked up.”

Lifting the bottle again, Michael drank deeply, the alcohol burning his throat and lungs.

“Boy, your ideas of romance are something lethal.”

“Romance?”

Michael really wanted to hit his head on the desk. Repeatedly. That wouldn’t solve Bucky’s problems, though. Well, Michael wasn’t sure they could solve Bucky’s problems, but they were going to try.

“There’s a term called ‘grovelling,’ and boy, are you going to get familiar with it.”

“I don’t grovel,” Bucky growled and well, that had hit a nerve. “I don’t beg.”

“You do, when you’re in the wrong,” Michael said firmly. “If you hurt him, and you know what you said was out of line, you go apologize. You beg for forgiveness, or it ain’t ever gonna work, Bucky. With anyone.”

There was only sullen silence on the line for a long time.

“If, hypothetically, I wanted to…grovel,” the word sounded like it had been squeezed from Bucky’s throat, “how would I go about it?”

Michael paused, because that, he thought, should have been obvious.

“You’ve never romanced anyone? Dating? Nothing?”

“Girls, a long time ago and… Well, it’s not like I had to put all that much effort into it.”

Michael nodded to himself. Sex on the hoof. Teenage hormones. Yeah, he probably hadn’t had to work hard to get girls or boys.

“Does he matter to you, Buck? Do you want this to work? Can you meet his expectations? And, you know, ‘I don’t know’ is an acceptable answer to the question.”

“I want him,” Bucky said simply.

“Do you want him enough to do the things _he_ likes? Non-sexual things.”

“Sure.” 

The answer was easy and quick. It occurred to Michael that it could be the sex that held the most value, was the hardest decision for Bucky. Everything else? It easy and not really something he even considered, while for other people it was the other way around. Hero boy had a lot of work cut out for him.

“So,” Michael said, “apologize, as many times as needed. Give gifts. Ask to do things with him, preferably things _he_ likes, or things you like that you want him to like, too. Ask him about his life, his feelings. Rinse and repeat until forgiven.”

“That’s it?”

Michael laughed.

“That’s it.”

“All right,” Bucky said slowly, “I can do that.”

For his sake, Michael hoped he could.

\----

Clint didn’t like the briefing room. There was only one door in, the window against the outside wall didn’t open (though it was covered by blinds), the wall to the corridor was glass, and there were no accessible air vents. Since it wasn’t situated at the either end of the long corridor, but in the middle, it had super-shitty lines of sight. The glass could be frosted, but then they couldn’t see out.

The only upside, was this was where he got to watch Steve work. Technically, their Alpha was practically still a kid; he would only have been allowed to rent a car for the last two years. When it came to strategizing, though, Clint didn’t want to work with anyone else if he could have Steve. Which was why he’d insisted Tasha call him in, vacation, smaycation. With Tasha’s life on the line, he wanted the best to make sure her plan was the best.

For the last ten minutes, he’d stared at the hologram of Stuyvesant Square Park. Clint didn’t like the place for a meet, but he hadn’t picked it. Nat hadn’t picked it either, her contact had. Squished between several churches, a hospital and other medical facilities, restaurants and shops, with a road in between, the place was nearly impossible to secure. Of course, that meant Tasha wanted to bring only him as back up. When he’d been unable to convince her to cancel the meeting altogether, or insist on a new spot, Clint had demanded Steve, and that, at least, she had listened to.

Now, after hearing her brief him on the mission and examine the location, they were waiting for his decision.

“You need another sniper,” he finally declared. Swiping his hand through the hologram, he got a red dot to light up atop St. George’s Episcopal Church. (Clint still couldn’t make the fucking things zoom in.) “Here,” he swiped again, another dot appearing on the top of the hospital across the park. “It’s not ideal, but you cover all four sides. Bring armor-piercing rounds, and two snipers could cover the whole area.”

“But the tree cover,” Clint protested.

Steve inclined his head, took a breath, and said, “Between you and Bucky, the trees won’t matter.”

“You want me to bring Barnes?” Tasha repeated. “On a S.H.I.E.L.D. mission?”

“Clint and Bucky are the best snipers, arguably, in the world. They’re all you need to get this done, Nat. If you don’t take Bucky, you’re looking at, hmm, at least three more snipers,” Steve’s fingers swiped through the air, leaving the red dot atop the church, and adding three blue ones about the other side of the park, “here, here and here. You want less people? You take Bucky.”

Tasha blew out a breath and looked to him. Not sure why, Clint made a face at her. At least it earned him a smile.

“Okay,” she said, “Call him in.”

“Me?” Steve blurted, his voice higher than Clint had ever heard it. “Seriously?” 

Natasha just raised the, ‘Don’t fuck with me’ eyebrow and Steve sighed.

“JARVIS? Could you call Bucky to the briefing room please?”

This time Natasha said, “Seriously?”

Shrugging, Steve didn’t look the slightest bit apologetic.

“He’s got to get used to JARVIS some time.”

“I’m sorry, Captain Rogers, but I do not believe that is appropriate. Sergeant Barnes does not appreciate my capabilities. Additionally, I think my encroaching on the Sergeant’s privacy in this way would be counterproductive to a future relationship.”

Steve looked like a cat that was suddenly, and for no reason, dunked in cold water.

“I’ll call him,” Clint offered.

If he hadn’t been looking at Steve, Clint knew he would have missed the flash of anger that flickered across his features. Great, he’d pissed off Captain America.

“Do it,” Steve rallied, managing to sound calm and sure of himself while, even Client could see he was panicking. He looked at Nat, but she was staring holes into the side of Steve’s head.

“Riiight,” he drawled, pulling out his phone and typing in a quick message. Actually hitting the call button seemed like a terrible idea at this point, what with Steve’s super-hearing and all.

**CeilingHawk** : We need you in the briefing room. JARVIS won’t call you and Steve is freaking out

**WinterMenace** : Did something happen?

Clint fought the urge to roll his eyes. Barnes was so predictable it hurt. It was all Steve, Steve, Steve with him. Then again, it was all Bucky, Bucky, Bucky, with Steve. 

**CeilingHawk** : Mission brief. He insisted we take you and now he can’t get you here and it’s Steve so his calamity claxons are clamoring. Ooo, that was a good one

**WinterMenace** : Your alliterations are the real menace around here. What’s the mission?

**CeilingHawk** : Show up and find out, rookie

**WinterMenace** : So bored, could go for some mayhem. PS: I will show you ‘rookie’

Clint only resisted the urge to snort because Steve was staring at him so intently he was about to burn holes in Clint’s shirt.

Aloud, he said, “He’s on his way.”

**CeilingHawk** : No one says P.S. in a txt, old man. It’s like training Steve all over again.

**WinterMenace** : How do I get there?

**CeilingHawk** : Ask JARVIS.

When Bucky didn’t text back, Clint set down his phone. Steve, the idiot, finally looked away, and thankfully it didn’t take more than a few minutes for the door to be pushed open. Barnes stepped in wearing black cargo pants with a stunning amount of pockets, yet still managing to stretch suggestively over his thighs and ass, black combat boots, and a white and blue print shirt beneath an unzipped, black hoodie. His hands were in his pockets, the metal arm hidden completely. A messy bun kept his hair out of his eyes, though some of it was too short and slipped free from the band. 

Steve, Clint realized, was staring, but Bucky looked relaxed, easy. The Alpha’s nostrils were flaring as he scented the air, but Barnes didn’t react to it at all. No protest, nothing to show he was displeased. Clint had no idea if it was just a front; Natasha’s stories about Barnes suggested the complete opposite, but Clint found he could appreciate Barnes’ sense of style. Not like the-tighter-the-better duo in the room. Sometimes, when he looked at Steve, Clint thought he might need to start carrying emergency clothes, just in case one of Steve’s shirts gave up the ghost and burst at the seams.

“I’m here,” Bucky announced, giving them a lazy wave with his flesh hand.

“Bucky,” Steve said seriously, and Clint winced as he recognized not just Cap Voice, but Cap Face, “Nat is running a mission with Clint and could use some backup. Would you be willing? It is, technically, a S.H.I.E.L.D. mission.”

“What’s the mission?” Bucky asked.

Steve looked to Tasha.

“Intel,” she answered, leaning both palms on the briefing table, “I’m meeting my contact. S’posed to be alone, but I don’t trust the guy. The plan was to just take Clint, but _someone_ ,” she flicked a glare at Clint and he made another face at her, “insisted I get a second opinion.”

“My opinion,” Steve supplied, “is to bring you.”

Clint expected Barnes to be resistant to the idea. From what both Natasha and Steve had told him about Barnes in the Three Sisters, he had a bad attitude towards S.H.I.E.L.D. It was surprising, then, that Barnes swept his eyes over them all in one quick motion, stepped deeper into the room, and took a place at the table.

“Protection detail? Sure,” Barnes said, seating himself in the nearest chair.

Looking to Steve for more instruction, Clint saw the naked surprise in his eyes before Steve managed to get himself together.

“Sniper coverage,” Steve said slowly, “Hopefully only that. If anything goes wrong, you stop anyone fleeing to the southeast, northeast, or southwest.” Motioning to the hologram, he pointed to the red dot on the hospital. “I think you’d be best here.”

Both Tasha and Clint stared at the dot, then up at Steve again. That was the position closest to the most civilians. Steve didn’t notice, focused completely on Bucky. Clint looked at Barnes, caught him frowning as he studied the the display. The Omega had noticed, then, but Clint wondered if he realised the full meaning of Steve’s decision to place him there at all. What it meant that Steve was trusting him with so many lives. 

“This is a really shit place for a meeting,” Barnes said, still frowning. Clint knew, theoretically, that the man had almost seventy years of experience in the field, but it was hard to remember that looking at his thirtysomething face. 

“That’s what I said,” Clint agreed vehemently. 

“And I said it wasn’t my call,” Natasha repeated, sounding exasperated.

“We work with what we have,” Steve stated, “Barnes covers half the square. Barton the other. No one is getting in, or out, that they don’t see. Minimal personnel, maximum coverage.”

Clint couldn’t help a swell of pride that Captain America had so much faith in him. Not that he’d admit that out loud. Tasha would _never_ let him live it down. 

“At what time is the meeting?”

“I talked him into noon, but it’s still happening today.”

Grinning, Clint nodded to Tasha. That was his girl; she was taking to heart all his lessons on how best to use his cover. At noon, the sun wouldn’t be in his eyes, or Barnes’, no matter where they were positioned.

“Lunch hour, lots of civilian traffic milling about,” Barnes pointed out, “It will be hard to distinguish possible threats.” 

“That’s why they need you,” Steve said simply, “Same communications devices as we used in the Three Sisters. Tony’s been working on a sniper loadout for you; you’ll have an hour to see how you like it.”

Chuckling, Clint said, “Steve had to promise cuddles and blow jobs to get Tony to work on it.”

Turning red to his roots, Steve hurriedly protested, “I did not.”

“Aw,” Clint cooed, “there’s Stevie. Welcome back. I’d lost you in all that patriotic glare.”

Barnes shifted back in his chair, still outwardly relaxed, but something about him had changed. His focus was sharp now, fixed on Steve. Barnes had not liked Clint’s joke one bit, which Clint understood, but getting Steve to lighten up was _his_ patriotic duty.

“It was a joke, Menace,” Clint said loudly. “When Steve puts on Cap Face you gotta shake ‘im out of it. Otherwise,” he said sarcastically, “the wind will shift and it’ll stick that way.”

“Shut up,” Steve grumbled. Then, as fast as it had gone, he put the fucking Cap Face back on and looked to Barnes without quite meeting his eyes. “You’re still in? You don’t have much time to get ready.”

“Are you coming?” Barnes asked, his voice unusually quiet.

“Vacation,” Steve said firmly, crossing his arms. 

Clint swore Barnes looked disappointed.

“You trusting me with your pack alone?”

Steve softened then, voluntarily making eye contact with Barnes and holding his gaze.

“Yes,” Steve answered, clear and sure, “I am.”

Clint felt like he was a spectator in some kind of romantic comedy. All they needed was a host of singing birds and the moment would be perfect Disney love confession moment. Not that either Barnes or Steve looked like they were about to confess their emotions. Noooo, _that_ would be too easy.

Damned stubborn idiots.

Bucky, somehow, stared at Steve _harder_.

“Can I…talk to you? For a minute? Alone?”

Without his Cap Face on, Clint was treated to a rapid flash of emotions across Steve’s face. It started with alarm, then want, followed by hope, and ended with a splash of horror, fear, and stubbornness. Then he pulled out ‘Captain America is disappointed in you.’

Yep, so much for them just talking to each other.

“You don’t have much time to prepare as it is. It’s a new loadout, Buck. You’re good, but it’s new gear, and who knows what Tony’s done to it.”

If Steve could, Clint imagined he would have pushed Bucky out the door and fled in the opposite direction. On the bright side, now Tasha was wearing her murder face and glaring at Steve. Barnes was starting to look mulish, his jaw tensing, and his whole posture coiling up.

It was definitely time to clear out.

“Come on, Barnes,” Clint said, standing, “I’ll take you up to see Tony.”

For a moment, Barnes looked like he wanted to protest, still staring into Steve’s eyes. Then he he stood, turned on his heel and stalked from the room, leaving Clint to follow. He did, throwing Cap a messy salute and nodding to Tasha on the way.

Half-way down the hall, not quite out of Steve’s earshot yet, Clint asked, “What’d you want to talk to him about?”

Barnes looked at him from the corner of his eye, walking steadily while keeping eye contact. He remained quiet until they were way out of Steve’s range of hearing, and so much for that plan. Way to go, Barnes.

“Steve is avoiding me,” Barnes said suddenly, when Clint thought he wouldn’t say anything at all. The Omega pulled his metal hand out of his hoodie so that he could gesticulate his frustration with both hands. Helplessly, Clint let his eyes follow the silvery gleam of metal. The arm was _so_ cool. He’d want one if, you know, he didn’t have to lose an arm first.

“I heard,” Clint said slowly, “you two got in a real nasty fight.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be a fight!” Barnes protested loudly, making a few people passing them jump at the growl in his voice. Briefly, he worried that Barnes wasn’t taking his suppressants. The man smelled like his heat was almost upon him and he was as emotionally erratic as an Omega approaching heat. He really hoped that wasn’t the case, though. Steve wouldn’t handle it well, not if his reaction to Barnes’ scent had been any indication.

“Hey, hey,” Clint said quickly, holding up both palms, “I’m not taking sides here. Just making a statement.”

Bucky growled, but it was a half-hearted at best. 

“I just wanted to talk to him,” Barnes sounded suddenly young, “Why’s he have to be so stubborn?”

Clint snorted.

“Pot, meet kettle. Also, that’s kind of Steve’s thing. Or Captain America’s thing.” He flapped a hand. “It gets confusing.”

Barnes moved his head and back like an offended cat.

“I’m perfectly reasonable!”

“You thigh choked me out of an air vent,” Clint scoffed. “Do you know who goes into air vents? Crazy people. You know how I know? _I’m in the air vents._ ”

“I just want to talk to him,” Bucky repeated dejectedly. If there had been a can lying nearby, he looked like he would have kicked it.

Clint made a face, feeling his heart clench with sympathy.

“It’s Steve,” he offered, “He’ll come around. Maybe he just needs some space.”

“You’re right,” Barnes suddenly perked up. “He can’t hide forever.” 

That statement gave Clint a bad feeling, and he opened his mouth to stop the growing enthusiasm in Bucky. Not that he got a chance to say anything as Barnes was already talking.

“I’ll smoke him out of his hole eventually.” Barnes slapped Clint on the shoulder hard enough it made him stumble. “Thanks!”

With a bad feeling, Clint stared at the Omega rapidly walking away. Like he might have given the unstable, volatile super-soldier a new mission in life - hounding Steve. The thing with Steve was, the harder somebody pushed him, the more he dug in out of sheer spite and stubbornness. If you wanted Steve to do something, the last way to get it done was to try to push him around.

“Aw, fuck,” Clint muttered.


	23. Chapter 23

Bucky closed his eyes and let himself sink to the bottom of the swimming pool. The water closed over his head, eliminating his sense of smell, muffling his hearing, and making the world unintelligible and vague through the water. The few sounds he could make out dissipated easily in the water, reaching his ears like an echoing wave. He reached the bottom and let himself lie there, his arm and the metal in his body anchoring him in place without effort. 

The last few days had been strange. 

First, the fight with Steve where, suddenly, instead of getting what they both wanted, they had managed to mess it all up by arguing over stupid shit. A fact Bucky had been oblivious to until a friend had pointed it out. And that, having a friend, was strange in and of itself. Michael’s offer of safety, protection, and understanding had taken him utterly off guard. According to Michael, he needed to grovel, and what better time to start than immediately? Unfortunately, Steve didn’t agree with Bucky’s plan at all. He had managed to avoid Bucky for two entire days with enviable skill. Wherever Bucky went, whoever he asked, it seemed he was always missing Steve by minutes. 

Then, the totally unexpected invitation to the mission. 

Bucky had been bored; he freely admitted it. He wanted action, wanted to move, to do something, anything. Clint’s text had been a nice surprise. The fact that Steve would be there too was an unexpected boon. The mission itself seemed to be an easy one, if technically challenging. Not that he said it out loud, but urban warfare was Bucky's strongest skill. He had experienced those kinds of missions most often as Hydra’s Fist. Hunting down targets in parks, in cities, subways, public buildings; lying on a narrow ledge on a pigeon-infested roof and sifting through throngs of civilians through his scope, searching for the right one, the single target among hundreds. He had played many roles over time, a protector, an attack dog, anything his handlers wanted, but he was best at this.

Keeping Romanova in his sights, waiting for her contact to show up, was old hat. Seeing Yurii Makarov, a man he had had on his immediate strike team for nine years, come up to her, definitely _wasn’t_. He could still remember the moment he had said he recognized the man as a Hydra operative. Natasha had tensed in his sights, Clint had started talking at him. They both pretended nothing was amiss but he could read the fear in their voices, the wariness. They expected him to turn on them, or at the very least to go off script. Blow the mission.

It wasn’t the time or place to tell them who Yurii was, to tell them he remembered the guy as a barely seventeen-year-old new recruit staring at him with equal measures of awe and terror when brought to Bucky for training. He remembered the way Yurii would follow Bucky like a lost puppy, through any Hydra base Bucky was kept in. Yurii was his man, as much as he was Hydra’s, for such a long time. Just a boy from a poor region of Russia, recruited out of total poverty, and stuffed full of propaganda.

Bucky was grateful nobody had had eyes on him then. Nobody saw the way he had had to take a deep breath before he set his sights, aiming for Yurii’s heart. He had liked the boy, as much as he could like anyone at Hydra, but if it came to Yurii or Natasha, he would choose Natasha. There was too much riding on this mission. Natasha and Clint were part of the pack he wanted to be a part of. He wouldn’t let anyone, or anything, mess that up.

He had kept his aim true on the boy’s back, ready to blow half his chest away should he make a single wrong move towards Natasha. And he hoped, in the quiet part of his mind that had always been his own, that he would not be asked to kill Yurii anyway. The drop off went well, Natasha not revealing how the news of her contact being Hydra made her feel. If she hadn’t known. 

Bucky still wasn’t sure she hadn’t known.

Back in the Tower, Bucky hadn’t been able to stop himself from thinking of Yurii. Of the lanky kid he met so many years ago, the competent agent he had worked with so many times. The guy had a talent for explosives. Talent and dedication, spending hours studying and learning, never just taking things on instinct. He had always careful of his teammates and respectful of Bucky. For his part, Bucky tried to take as much attention from his handpicked strike team as he could, letting them have breathing space that was never allowed to him. 

Bucky wondered who commanded Yurii now. Did his new team leader appreciate the quiet competence of the Beta? Or was he expected to be a mindless drone, like so many other recruits?

A burst of anger shot through the bond, so strong, Bucky felt it clear as if it was his own. Uncurling his legs, he shot to the surface of the pool. Inhaling deeply, he wiped water from his eyes and glanced upward where he could sense Steve. Grabbing his towel, he debated ignoring the strong emotion and continuing his meditation, but another fresh burst made him think twice. 

Whatever this was, he wanted to have Steve’s back.

Swimming to the pool’s edge, he climbed free and grabbed his towel. Hastily drying off, he headed for the elevator. Inside, he instructed JARVIS to take him to Steve and soon the elevator doors were whisking open on a level he hadn’t been to before. A receptionist sat behind a desk, but Bucky ignored her, taking the well appointed hallway to the left that led to the briefing room JARVIS had shown him to the day before. He passed glass walls, looking into offices, four desks in each, until he reached a solid glass wall. He knew Steve was on the other side, despite the frost obscuring his view.

Pushing open the door, Bucky found Steve leaning on the solid wood conference table. Stark, Romanova, and Clint were at the other end, expressions ranging from regretful (Wilson) to blank (Romanova). Wilson stood half-between them, arms crossed, eyes on the monitor hanging on the wall. Following his gaze, Bucky saw blueprints, and instantly recognized a Hydra base in Romania.

“Steve,” Stark was saying placatingly, “you’re supposed to be on vacation.” 

“Sir,” the receptionist said, apparently having followed Bucky from the elevator, “you can’t be in here. Mr. Stark, sir, I’m sorry. Security is on its way…”

“It’s fine, Janine,” Wilson said in his low, friendly voice. “Bucky’s welcome.”

“He is?” Stark said, raising both eyebrows, then he choked, getting his first look at Bucky. “The fuck are you wearing.” 

“Clothes,” Bucky answered sweetly.

“Damn right, he’s welcome,” Steve growled and wasn’t that a surprise. Bucky turned to stare at the Alpha who was channeling so much force into his fists he was denting the wooden table. Steve wasn’t looking at him, at all. “Which I would have _told_ you, if anyone had bothered to consult me.”

“What the hell is going on?” Bucky demanded, putting his hands on his hips.

Steve shoved a hand through his hair, forcing himself to calm down, until Bucky could barely feel the anger simmering within the bond.

“That drop you went on uncovered some information on a Hydra splinter cell, calling themselves Advanced Idea Mechanics, or AIM for short.”

“That’s not possible,” Bucky snapped. “I killed them all and the rest I fed to S.H.I.E.L.D. There shouldn’t be enough of them left to form up again.”

“The intel’s credible,” Steve answered, oddly calming before Bucky’s reaction instead of feeding on his anger like most Alphas Bucky had known. “The Avengers are planning to hit one of their bases,” Steve cut his eyes to Stark and Romanova, the anger flickering brighter as he growled out, “Without us.”

‘Us.’ Bucky felt his chest tighten.

“You’re on _vacation_ ,” Stark said again, throwing his hands into the air. “Barnes, tell him.”

Steve’s lips peeled back from his teeth in a silent snarl.

“I can take more time _after_.”

“There’s always going to be another mission,” Romanova protested. “Always another reason for you to get back in the game. You’re…right,” the word sounded like it pained her, olive green eyes flicking Bucky’s way, “about Barnes. We’ll bring him into the planning and he’ll join us, if he wants…”

“He wants,” Bucky growled.

Romanova nodded, conceding.

“Steve you promised…”

Steve drove his fist into the coffee table and Bucky felt the skin split on his knuckles as a twinge in his own. It wasn’t anger, though it sure as hell looked like it. No, this was panic. Panic…because Bucky was going on the mission? And they were trying to keep Steve home?

“I don’t sit out on Hydra,” he declared, voice low, a growl vibrating the words. “Not now, not ever. You want me to take another week on top of these two? Fine, but not this, Nat. You can’t ask me to do this.” Steve turned, not to Tony, but to Bucky. “You can’t.”

Bucky took a breath as Romanova began to argue again.

“He died for this,” Bucky interrupted her, holding Steve’s gaze. “Make him take the extra week. I’ll make sure he takes it.”

“You?” Stark repeated, incredulous.

They were all staring at him now, Steve with relief in his eyes, Wilson and Clint considering, Romanova suspicious, Stark incredulous. Bucky had eyes only for Steve, who it seemed was only now realizing Bucky was wearing nothing but wet swim trunks. Blue eyes were slipping down his face, down his body, leaving a trail of fire as Steve’s mouth hung open. It made Bucky feel powerful.

Steve still wanted him.

“Me,” Bucky said triumphantly.

Wilson rubbed his fingers together, finally uncrossing his arms. 

“You know where I stand on this.”

“Yeah, you tattled to Dad,” Stark snapped.

“Clint?” Romanova asked quietly.

“Let them help,” Clint said slowly, watching Bucky assessingly. “See if Barnes can wrangle Steve. God knows no one else can.”

Stark threw his hands into the air again and Romanova scowled. Bucky smirked at them and moved to Steve’s left. The pleasure he felt when the Alpha leaned toward him was easy to hide, but still there. Up until Steve realised what he was doing and straightened up, stiff as a board.

Bucky huffed under his breath. Stubborn, indeed.

“So fill us in,” Steve ordered.

\----

It turned out, Bucky hadn’t taken out as much of Hydra as he thought. And wasn’t that bloody wonderful. He hadn’t been this angry, this bent on destruction, since the moment he killed his last Hydra handler. The only way he managed to keep calm, was focusing on Steve’s emotions through the bond. Like on the plane, when they’d shared a different, open connection, he was a calm sea to Bucky’s storm. 

That wasn’t to say Steve wasn’t angry. Bucky was surprised just how angry Steve was. Theoretically, Bucky had known Steve hated Hydra. Just how much? Only now was Bucky starting to understand. It burned in him, a low banked fire that spoke to the flames in Bucky’s soul. 

The mission was to get intel on the base, find out how many more were out there, and wipe the place from existence. They weren’t taking prisoners, Steve had said, unless there was a very obvious, very real reason to, or they surrendered. Bucky knew they wouldn’t surrender and Steve had, too, even as he’d said the words. Those words were what Bucky had expected from the legend that was Captain America. The satisfaction that they wouldn’t take prisoners? That they would burn Hydra to the ground? That was a surprise, and a very pleasant one at that.

The base was located in Romania, AIM had repurposed the administrative building of an opencast coal mine. The place dug into the earth, but also rose six floors into the sky. A dirt access road led to the building, but someone had also installed a helipad on the lower part of the squat ‘L’ that the roof had been built to resemble. It was a bit ridiculous, really, and Bucky was furious they’d managed to hide it from him.

The Avengers had flown in on Stark’s quinjet, piloted by the high-level S.H.I.E.L.D. agent Maria Hill, expecting and finding heavy resistance. Clint and Bucky rained coverfire from the outside, guarding exit points and ensuring the team got in together. Stark and Wilson had taken the roof, while Romanova and Steve had gone in through the ground floor. It was supposed to be simple, in, out, call it a day.

They hadn’t expected there to be labs in active use. 

The base hadn't been a research site for at least the last twenty years. Everybody, including Bucky, was surprised when JARVIS had announced there were human subjects locked in heavily guarded cells underneath the base. Moments later, they also discovered the AIM personnel were even more fanatic than Hydra, triggering the self-destruct sequence almost as soon as the Avengers had breached their defenses.

Bucky cursed quietly as he reloaded, painfully aware of all the targets he was supposed to protect. Unlike any of his missions in Hydra, he had a whole damn team reliant on his skills. Bucky had been supposed to get things done no matter the cost in personnel or equipment. This was exactly the opposite. There was Wilson, flying interference and risking being shot down any minute if Hawkeye and Bucky didn’t keep AIM snipers in check. Stark, who was barely focusing on fighting, letting his suit just take the hits as he tried to beat the self-destruct system. Romanova was locked somewhere in the warren of corridors beneath the building, running the risk of being cornered any second. And then there was Clint and him, in position to keep at bay the worst of the reinforcements trying to reach the main building. Every person they didn't shoot down, didn't kill, was one more aiming their gun at their vulnerable teammates. 

Bucky hated it, hated how inadequate, how inefficient it made him feel.

Steve was barking orders to the team, but the mission only went from bad to worse. Stark, who was hacking AIM’s systems in tandem with JARVIS, announced that this base possessed research disturbingly similar to that which Dr. Clarkson had unleashed at the Three Sisters. Someone had just downloaded all the files, and Stark could see them headed for the helipad on a security feed.

“Tony, stop the countdown,” Steve ordered through the comms. “Barnes, can you take out that helicopter?”

“No,” Bucky answered shortly, “It’s too close to the wall.”

“Clint?”

Clint sounded frustrated when he answered.

“I’m out, Cap.”

“Okay,” Steve said slowly, and Bucky could feel his mounting frustration, “I’ve got the roof. Nat, Barton, Wilson, get as many people out as you can. Tony will stop the countdown.”

Another truckload of AIM guards rolled up to the base. Bucky shifted his aim, lining up his shot, exhaling, and pulling the trigger. The unfortunate goon hopping out of the back collapsed, no longer sporting a head, and Bucky smirked as the man behind him collapsed with an arrow through his heart. He shot again and again. For every two of his shots, an arrow struck down agents left and right. Bucky liked the exploding ones, for as long as they’d lasted, but these ordinary ones seemed like a total waste of time and opportunity. 

Clint was a terrific shot. Their sharpshooting had similar accuracy, but Clint wasn’t enhanced. Nobody had fucked with his eyes to give him an edge. He’d been born this way, reached this level of skill by using talent and power. If he'd had the same level of enhancements as Bucky? He would outstrip Bucky by miles.

The arrows were driving Bucky mad though. No matter how fast Clint drew, it was still slower than pulling a trigger. While he could see the merit of arrows on stealth missions, where any kind of firearm was a liability in a melee situation, like this? Clint was limiting himself and he couldn’t see why.

“I can’t,” Stark said, sounding desperate. “It’s encrypted, password protected, and relaying from multiple networked computers. If I had more time… I just need more time!”

“How much time?” Steve demanded. “How do we slow it down?”

“A half hour?” Stark sounded…lost.

“We can’t slow it down, Steve,” Hill chimed in. “It will complete in five minutes. There’s no telling what the radius on the blast will be.”

Rolling to his side, Bucky swept for sight of Clint and watched him drop from his position high up in a tree to a lower branch, then to the ground, agile as an acrobat. Sweeping outward, Bucky followed the path the archer would take and picked off two of the AIM guards that would block his path to the building.

“You have four minutes, Tony,” Steve said grimly.

“I can’t -”

“Tony,” Steve said, suddenly harsh. “Focus. Evac in three minutes.”

“Steve,” Clint protested, “that’s not nearly enough time to get to everyone.”

“You have <>three minutes,” Steve barked, then his tone gentled, “Do what you can. Bucky, I’m at the roof.”

Steve gave Bucky half a second to adjust his aim, just enough time for him to get his rifle in position to watch the door on the upper roof crash open. Steve ran out, straight at the AIM goon keeping a watch on the door. A burst of automatic gunfire ricocheted off Steve’s shield, and he was on top of the guy. He ducked under the rifle, grabbed it, then slammed it back into the face of its owner. Bucky fired over his right shoulder, taking out the AIM guard at Steve’s back. Without even glancing in the fallen guard’s direction, Steve rushed on, and Bucky realized he had left the opening, knowing Bucky would take the shot. Knowing Bucky would keep him safe. _Trusting_ him with his life, even when he wouldn’t with his heart.

The guards at the north end of the wall had cover, seven separate automatic weapons belching bullets at the obvious target Steve made in his red, white, and blue uniform. The Alpha made it a few more feet before he had to dive to the side, back against the same concrete wall the guards were taking advantage of. He crawled along it to the edge, but there were still half a dozen feet before he could reach the edge and drop to the lower roof below. When he poked his head out, someone on the other side fired from behind the wall. Someone Bucky couldn’t get a bead on.

“Rotor blades are spinning, Steve,” Bucky informed the Alpha.

Steve cursed.

“What a mouth,” Bucky purred.

“Not the time,” Romanova snapped.

“So what’s the plan?” Bucky said, conceding that she had a point.

Instead of answering, Steve pulled his handgun from its thigh holster, ducked over the wall, and fired at the guards in their cover. Immediately they fired back and Bucky smirked. Steve had lured them out, right into his line of fire. Lining up his shots, he began picking the sons of bitches off. Steve ducked back into cover, then all he had to do was keep AIM’s attention by firing his handgun over the top of his wall. 

“Thirty seconds until evac,” Agent Hill announced.

Bucky grinned, welcoming the kick of his rifle as it fired, taking down the last of the agents pinning Steve down. A neat shot, right between the eyes. The hole in front wasn’t all that big, but most all of the man’s head was blown out in a shower of brain matter, blood, and bone fragments.

The AIM guard hadn’t even hit the floor before Steve was moving. He hit the edge of the roof and vanished. More sounds of gunfire reached his ears, but Bucky couldn’t see him. His heart skipped a beat, something tight taking up residence in his chest as he swept the roof in search of any sign of Steve. The Alpha was enhanced, he knew that. He knew that he was probably okay, but it was different knowing and seeing it for himself. 

The same wall that kept him from dealing with the helicopter kept Steve from his sight.

“Times up,” Steve ordered and his feet had to have just hit the ground. “Everyone out. Tony, you still have one minute and then you’re out, too.”

Bucky didn’t wait. Rolling to his feet, he dropped to the ground like a stone. He didn’t even bother to roll with the impact, letting his bones take the force of it. A heartbeat later, he was at a flat-out run, sprinting for the evacuation point. Catching sight of an AIM guy still moving on the ground, Bucky redirected, leapt, and kicked him in the head hard enough to snap his neck, before continuing his sprint.

“Times up,” Steve said what felt like moments later, his voice hard and firm. The Captain voice that Clint had taught him to listen for, “Evac, Tony. Now.”

“I have another thirty seconds,” Tony argued. “Just give me my minute.”

“Stark,” Steve barked, something of an Alpha command in the word that made Bucky shiver, “get your goddamned ass back to the quinjet and do it now! Cover the hostages.”

“There are people in there!” Tony shouted.

“You can’t save them, Tony!” Steve shouted back. “You’re not good to anyone dead. _Pepper_ needs you _alive_.”

“Fine,” Tony snarled.

“Steve,” Hill said sharply, “you’re out of time, too.”

“Maria,” Steve said, the harsh tone suddenly gone from his voice. It was gentle, calm. 

Bucky’s stomach swooped to his feet.

“Steve, no!” Romanova shouted. Bucky could see her, red hair a beacon in the fading sun. Spinning about mid-step, she stared back at the AIM base. At Steve, who was still on the roof.

“I have to stop the helicopter, Nat,” Steve said gently, a strange counterpoint to the sound of gunfire through the comm. 

Bucky’s horror matched Natasha’s and, he imagined, the rest of the team’s as they all realized the same thing.

“You’re still on the roof!” Wilson shouted.

“You fucking idiot,” Bucky snarled.

Even as he said it, Bucky could see the helicopter lifting into the air. Bucky stared, wide eyed, as it spun toward the north, leaned forward, and froze. Just stopped, as if hovering, but the angle meant the pilot was trying to gain speed.

Bucky jerked his rifle up to his eyes, looking through the scope and there, barely visible from behind the roof’s low railing, was Steve. His biceps were straining, like nothing Bucky ever seen, as Steve gripped the metal railing with one hand, while the other held the helicopter. Actually _holding it in place._

“Holy shit,” Stark muttered over the comms.

Bucky could only echo that sentiment as he watched in awe as Steve, straining, teeth gritted, and probably yelling, pulled the helicopter _closer_ to him. The pilot overcompensated, the helicopter banking sharply. “Steve!” several voices shouted as tons of steel and rotating blades twisted, the helicopter blades slicing into the pad. 

For the second time, Steve vanished from Bucky’s sight, but he had hardly a moment to worry about it. Gunshots rang through the air and Stark was shouting, his suit flailing, suddenly as smoke and sparks burst from his his leg. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Tony swore, the suit zigzagging toward the ground.

“Tony!” 

The shout kick-started Bucky’s heart as much as it made him see red. Steve yelled, worried about his precious Omega. He supposed he had a right to be, as Stark crashed with another curse and a roll, only feet from Bucky. Though he was pissed, Bucky changed course, reached for Stark with his metal hand and hauled him to his feet with a high whine of effort. The suit was goddamned heavy.

“Guess you’re on foot this time,” Bucky said.

“Steve’s on the roof,” Stark said, breathless and panicking, “A minute and I can -”

Steve cut Stark off.

“Tony, you’re not stable.” Gunshots echoed through Steve’s comms and from the roof. “You’ll just kill us both. Sam -”

“My wings are clipped,” Wilson said, words husky like he was crying.

“Okay,” Steve said slowly, a burst of amusement filtering through the bond. “Then I’ll find another way off.”

Bucky itched to strangle the guy. How could he be amused? He was literally on the roof of a building about to explode and had the gall to be _happy_ about it? Bucky was going to kill him, if he survived this.

“Rogers, don’t you dare,” Bucky snapped, shoving Stark toward the evac point.

“Twenty seconds, Cap,” Hill said somberly.

“Not a time to argue with me, jerk,” Steve said fondly. “Got another idea?”

“Why’d you have to blow up that chopper?”

Before him, Natasha appeared, and Bucky stopped, looking back to the roof. Behind him, Stark turned as well. Steve’s Omegas, Bucky realized, all thinking the same thing. That they had to help him, get to him, and that there was nothing they could do.

Steve, the punk, _laughed_.

“Can’t fly one anyway.”

“Any time now, Cap,” Hill said tersely.

A splash of blue appeared at the edge of the roof and they watched the reckless idiot plant his foot at the edge and leap into the air. There was no pinwheeling of arms; Steve leapt, then curled his body atop his shield as if that could possibly protect him from the effects of gravity and a five story fall, or the automatic gun fire chasing him.

The comms fell silent for the first time in the entire mission as everyone waited, breaths held, as Steve’s body curved through the air and crashed to the earth. They all heard him gasp, the air punched from his lungs. Then slowly, Bucky watched him get his hands beneath him, pushing himself to his feet. 

“Steve,” Romanova sounded like she was pleading, _“Run.”_

Steve didn’t answer. With his feet under him, he took a stumbling step, holding his side. Shaking his head once, then twice, Bucky saw him clench his jaw and felt a wave of determination through the bond. 

“You got this, Stevie,” Bucky was surprised to hear himself say, “Now _move_.”

The halting steps became a jog, then a run. Steve sprinted away from the building, ignoring the pain Bucky knew he could feel in his chest, his side, both his legs, and his neck. He ran, and Bucky let himself think he might get clear in time.

Then the building exploded.

Fire ripped through the gathering dusk as the AIM base tore apart. Shrapnel flew through the air. Bucky watched Steve jump again, twist in midair, bringing up his shield. Then he vanished in a cloud of dust. 

“Steve!” several voices shouted once more.

Bucky ignored them.

Swinging his rifle over his back, he dropped from his perch in the tree and sprinted. He could just feel Steve through the bond, but it wasn’t comforting. All Steve was feeling was pain. 

“Barnes?” Stark asked. “Barnes, where the hell are you going?!”

Bucky ignored him, too. Leaping the low outer fence, he sprinted through a hole in the tall inner fence torn by what once had been the steel bars on the first floor windows. He kept running, would have become lost in the smoke and dust, except he could feel Steve. Knew exactly where he was. 

It was the shield he found first.

Without pausing, Bucky swept it up in his hand and kept going. A few feet away, Steve lay sprawled on his back, gasping for air. Rebar had pierced his thigh and blood poured from a wound above his eye, blinding him and covering his face.

“I have him,” Bucky said, coughing on dust and smoke.

“Fucking Christ,” Wilson whispered.

“Is he okay?” Stark demanded.

“He will be,” Bucky assured, then grumbled, “If I don’t kill him first.”

“I get first dibs,” Romanova snapped.

“Technically,” Clint said, “Bucky is there first.”

Bucky started when Steve laughed. Lifting a shaking hand, Steve wiped at his eyes and looked up at him. The blue eyes were startlingly brilliant amongst so much blood. Bucky ignored that, ignored how those eyes opening made him feel, and scooped the battered Captain America into his arms.

“Fucking idiot,” Bucky growled.

Steve sighed tiredly, but actually smiled at him.

“I know,” he said, then laid his head against Bucky’s shoulder, his forehead leaning against Bucky’s throat. It stole anything else Bucky would have said. He merely held Steve closer to his chest and began walking toward the quinjet. Steve was silent the entire way, the bond still, except for the occasional twinge of pain, feeling the warmth of him against Bucky's throat.

Bucky was grateful then, for his enhancements, for the fact he could carry Steve easily enough that he didn’t have to jostle him. If he disregarded the blood and mayhem around them, he could almost say it was nice, having Steve so close, so trusting. The bond was humming between them, weak but warm. Surprisingly, it didn't bother him. It felt…good. It had been there when he needed it, brought him to Steve, who could have bled out if they’d had to search through the debris on their own. He was okay, though, and he was trusting Bucky to take care of him. 

When he reached the quinjet, Wilson was already there, waiting with a large first aid kit spread out near the bench. He could see Stark climbing from his suit, Hill behind the controls, Clint sitting on the seat furthest away from the entrance, stretching his neck to get a look at Steve. Natasha hurried behind them, herding them like cattle up the ramp and raising it behind them.

“‘M okay,” Steve murmured to no one in particular, “Just gonna take a nap now.”

“Steve, no,” Bucky said sharply.

“Steve, yes,” Steve countered, words slurring, his eyes already slipping closed.

“Who the fuck taught Steve memes?” Tony demanded, his voice sharp with worry.

The Alpha in question didn’t answer, his head lolling on his neck. 

“Shit,” Wilson cursed, “Get him here. He’s lost a lot of blood.”

Carrying him to the bed Wilson had lowered from the quinjet’s wall, Bucky set Steve down and went to step back. Okay, Steve’s fingers caught on his coat, yanking him to a stop. Bucky stared down, his throat tightening, to where several long fingers had slipped between the buckles of his tactical jacket, tangling them together.

The way they were woven…there was no way it was accidental. 

Swallowing hard, Bucky untangled Steve’s fingers, needing to get out of Natasha and Wilson’s way. He stepped back, then watched them work, watched how fast and competent Wilson was at patching Steve up. Quickly and efficiently, he recognized the most important injuries and dealt with them. Wilson knew blood loss itself wouldn’t kill Steve, so he focused on stopping the bleeding with pressure bandages and moved on, warming Steve up. Natasha piled up electric blankets on Steve’s exposed limbs, obviously trying to bring Steve’s temperature up. As fast as their metabolism was, it did run hot. Becoming so cold, so fast, put strain on their bodies and easily led to shock, something akin to suspended animation. Bucky had experienced coming back from such a state a few times, usually after a botched mission, and knew it hurt like hell. 

Watching how fast and competent they were Bucky felt, for the first time, that it could be good, being part of that. Part of a team, of a pack. Steve’s pack.

When Sam stepped back, having done what he could for Steve, and Natasha did as well, Bucky moved in. He didn’t care that they were staring at him. He couldn’t stand to be away from Steve now. The Alpha had been avoiding him, making it impossible to find him, talk to him, see him for more than a few moments, and never alone. He hadn’t been able to apologize, to try their conversation over, and now he was hurt...

“He’ll be okay,” Clint said, only not sneaking up on Bucky because he’d purposely scuffed his shoes over the jet’s steel floor. 

Bucky didn’t move the blankets, Steve needed all the heat he could get, but he laid his flesh palm over where he thought Steve’s hand should be. He could feel the shape of it there, if he pressed down. It wasn’t enough, it was inadequate, just a poor imitation of what he wanted, what he needed, but it was all he had at the moment.

“Leave him alone,” Stark said sharply. When Bucky looked, thinking it was he Stark was talking to, he found the Omega’s eyes on Clint. “Let him look after his Alpha alone. You can’t help.”

“But,” Clint started.

Romanova moved to his left, taking Clint’s arm and pulling him away.

“You can’t help. It’s his job; come on.”

They moved away, Stark and Hill to the cockpit, Clint, Wilson and Romanova to the other side of the jet. Bucky remained where he was, watching Steve’s face for any flicker of movement. They talked, but Bucky wasn’t listening. He waited, willing Steve to open his eyes again, so Bucky could be absolutely sure he was going to be all right.

With how good a job Sam had done patching him up, it didn’t take Steve long. In just thirty minutes, he was stirring, moving restlessly under the blankets, before opening his eyes. The blue gaze was fuzzy and unfocused, darting from the ceiling to the cockpit. And then they focussed on Bucky.

“Bucky?”

Bucky licked his lips, feeling how dry his throat was, how his muscles ached now that he was allowing himself to relax. 

“Yeah.” He pressed down against the hand he could feel moving under the blanket. “I’m here.”

“You called me Stevie.”

“Bloodloss. Made you hallucinate,” Bucky said weakly.

“Oh,” Steve said, his expression crumpling into disappointment. 

Bucky closed his eyes, absorbing the punch of…feelings…at seeing that look on Steve’s face.

“That was a joke,” he said, squeezing Steve’s hand tighter through the blankets.

“Oh,” Steve said again, but this time with a smile pulling at the corners of his lips, “Are you going to kill me now?”

“I think I’ll wait ‘til you get better. It wouldn’t do if you missed any of it due to bloodloss,” Bucky said inching as close to Steve as he could.

Beneath his hand, Steve wriggled free, then wrapped his fingers around Bucky’s wrist.

“I’m not supposed to tell you,” Steve whispered, “but I miss you.”

Bucky opened his mouth to spill all his apologies, to ask Steve again what was it that he wanted besides the bond. To negotiate. To talk. 

Then he looked at Steve’s pale face, the way the Alpha's eyes were quickly going glassy as fatigue was taking over, his body pulling all resources to fight the hemorrhaging and trauma Steve had sustained. His serum meant he would be okay in a few hours, but right now he was a wreck. Bucky laying his own feelings, his expectations on him right now? It would be a truly nasty thing to do. Not only were they in public, Steve was compromised, vulnerable and it would be everything Bucky hated to use that against Steve now that the Alpha was showing him his trust this way.

“I want to talk to you,” Bucky said quietly, working his hand under the hot blankets and curling his fingers around Steve’s there, so they would stay warm. Steve was staring at him, his blue eyes bright and vulnerable, and Bucky knew Steve was going to refuse, “Please,” Bucky added, “when you’re feeling better.”

“Pepper said,” Steve said slowly, “as many times as it takes, but I always fuck it up. I don’t want to fuck it up any more, but I will.”

Despite himself, Bucky laughed.

“Look who you’re talking to.”

“I’m always looking at you,” Steve mumbled. “I can’t stop. It’s not fair.”

“Please, Steve. Promise me? You’ll talk to me?”

Steve closed his eyes, breathed out slowly, and then nodded once.

“Okay.”

Bucky smiled and squeezed Steve’s hand.

“Go back to sleep, Stevie.”

\----

Bucky knew he stank to high heaven. After spending the last four hours sparing with Natasha, and she wasn’t holding back, he was soaked with sweat. That woman loved hurting him way too much. He had started that morning with a bun, but his hair was loose around his face now, sticking uncomfortably to his sweaty skin after Natasha had resorted to hair-pulling at one point. He didn’t mind, he had bit her thigh when she had gotten too enthusiastic trying to strangle him with her legs. Again.

Now he needed a shower, and breakfast, then a change of clothes out of the loose, grey sweat pants and black tank top he was wearing. 

Bare feet squeaked on the tile floor as Bucky skidded to a stop in front of the elevator. The cool ceramic seeped into his feet as he stared at Steve, leaning against his doorway, and staring up at the ceiling. He looked good, the only trace of their last mission the bandages poking out from beneath his loose, grey shorts. Like Bucky, he was barefoot, but he was also wearing that accursed, tight, white t-shirt. His pecs were straining at the cloth so hard Bucky was sure they would eventually gain freedom. Like most of the shirts Steve liked to wear, this one also let everybody see how hard his nipples were. The small rise of them, the thick swell of the pectorals, and the faint shadow of Steve’s ripped abdomen delineating under the shirt were quickly derailing Bucky’s train of thought. 

It took Bucky a moment to realize the lust he was feeling wasn’t all his own. Steve was staring at him intently, eyes on his arms and chest. He was scenting the air, apparently not sharing Bucky’s opinion that he smelled badly. 

They were, he realized, just standing there. Staring at each other. In his hallway. Because Steve had been waiting for him.

Abruptly, Steve reeled himself in.

“Invite me inside?” Steve asked, looking away from Bucky. “JARVIS monitors your hallway.”

It hit Bucky then, with abrupt, stunning clarity, that Steve had come to him because he wanted to meet on Bucky’s terms. He knew that Bucky hated the surveillance, hated being watched, recorded, observed in any way. He knew, and he had come to Bucky, to the territory Bucky claimed as his own. It gave Bucky the advantage. For purely tactical reasons - Steve had no idea what Bucky had in his rooms - to the emotional and social advantage of being in his own space. Steve would be the guest then. _Steve_ would be bound by the social norms of being a guest. Steve was allowing himself to be at a disadvantage at every corner. 

To make Bucky more comfortable.

Steve, Bucky realised again, was an _idiot_.

But Bucky wanted him to be _his_ idiot.

When Steve shifted uncomfortably, Bucky realized he was still just standing there, staring, and he hurried forward. Palming open his lock, he held the door open for Steve. The Alpha hesitated, then slipped inside with only a slight limp. He shoved both his hands in his pockets, though, preventing himself from touching anything, from leaving his scent behind.

Bucky didn’t like that restraint at all.

Looking around curiously, Steve followed Bucky into the living room and cleared his throat.

“You, um, wanted to talk.”

Bucky pulled his shirt off as fast as he could, feeling itchy and gross in the soaked fabric, only realising Steve had said anything when he was half-naked and throwing the shirt to the floor. Looking at the Alpha, he found Steve’s eyes on his chest, his lips parted as he breathed deeply through his mouth. 

“I’m gonna take a quick shower,” Bucky replied, “Not stalling, just wasn’t expecting this conversation…and you’re staring.”

“Am not,” Steve mumbled, his eyes immediately darting to the view out the window...if Bucky hadn’t had the curtains closed tight.

Bucky smiled, a smirking, toothy little thing.

“You can always join me,” he invited, thinking the worst that could happen would be Steve refusing. When he felt Steve’s irritation instead, he thought he might be wrong.

“I thought you said talk,” Steve snapped, still staring at the boring black curtains. “If that’s not what this is, I’ll be going.”

Bucky rolled his eyes.

“You are such a spoilsport,” he muttered. “Just wait while I shower; won’t take long,” 

Bucky waved towards the living room. He hadn’t been there long enough to make any changes to it. All the incriminating data was on the phone he was going to take into the bathroom. Anything else, he’d leave for Steve to find, since the guy would keep whatever he found to himself anyway.

Reaching for the drawstring on his sweatpants, Bucky headed into the bathroom, focussed on taking as fast a shower as possible. It was supposed to be just one minute, but the hot water hitting his skin seduced him into a good lathering…or three. He loved hot showers, loved the freedom to stand under the hot spray for however long he wanted. Steve _was_ waiting, however, so he made sure to keep it under six minutes. 

Shutting off the water, he threw a towel over his head, catching all the water dripping from his hair, and dried himself with another of the sinfully soft towels someone had stocked his bathroom with. Then he realised he’d been in such a hurry, he didn't actually take any clothes to change into with him into the bathroom. With a sigh, he wrapped the second towel around his hips and went out, intent to get to his bedroom for some pants. When he opened the door he saw Steve, standing exactly where he had left him.

“Why are you standing?” Bucky asked dumbly, thinking that Steve’s leg had to have started to hurt him by now.

Steve turned around and flushed to his roots even as his eyes dropped down Bucky’s chest and lingered at the towel about his waist. The burst of lust through the weakened, damaged bond was still clear, and Bucky felt his heart beat just a little faster. Up until anger chased Steve’s lust away, and his gaze snapped to Bucky’s in a glare.

“I came here to talk, Bucky,” Steve snapped, “If this was all some ploy to seduce me…”

“Hey!” Bucky protested, interrupting Steve’s rant. “I didn't know you were coming!” When the anger didn’t abate, Steve opened his mouth again, Bucky snapped, “Okay, so it would have been nice, but I’m not standing here in a towel asking you to fuck me. I”m doing it ‘cause I had no clean clothes and you’re being stupid standing there and not sitting down. So sit your ass down.”

Steve drew himself up as Bucky cursed him, cursing himself, because this wasn’t what he wanted.

“It’s not okay for you to be acting like this.”

“I ain’t acting like anything,” Bucky snapped. “Now sit down, or get out, ‘cause if you can’t control yourself, I don’t wanna talk to you anyway.”

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them and he winced, but thankfully Steve sat. He stared at Bucky, mouth open, eyes wide. Then he took a few steps to the side and dropped onto the couch, pulling his hands from his pockets only to wrap them around his stomach.

Bucky growled, at himself, at Steve, and at the situation in general before stomping into the bedroom. Generally, he knew people were uncomfortable with nudity, but it was hard to judge what was too much or too little at times. For the last seventy years, what he wore, or didn’t wear, had been completely controlled by other people. From his Hydra handlers to S.H.I.E.L.D. guards in the raft, they had chosen. And it wasn’t like he had waved his dong at Steve anyways. So he was shirtless, big deal, Steve with his skin-tight shirts never got yelled at for _his_ clothes.

More confused than angry, Bucky yanked on his boxer-briefs, quickly following them with his black cargo pants. Reflexively, he pulled on a red, short sleeved tee, then hesitated a moment before pulling his black hoodie out of the closet. But with Steve being so flighty, he figured better safe than sorry, and pulled that thing on with a sigh.

A quick rub over his head with the towel indicated his hair wasn’t dripping anymore, so he figured he was okay for company.

Maybe.

Why was he even anxious about this?

Warily, he returned to the living room to find Steve sitting on the couch in the exact same position he had assumed the moment Bucky had yelled at him. Looking up, he took in Bucky’s outfit warily. Seeing him clothed, he had a conflicting burst of disappointment even as his shoulders lowered in relief.

“Tell me you at least breathed while I was gone,” Bucky asked, looking at the way Steve was frozen in place.

“Um,” Steve managed, “I’m sorry. I’m a little,” he moved his fingers a circle, “on edge, but breathing did happen. I am still breathing.”

“Good, ‘cause I wasn't sure, what with that petrification impersonation you’re doing.”

Steve blinked, then smiled hesitantly.

“You make me nervous.”

This time, it was Bucky who blinked.

“I wasn’t making you nervous in the Three Sisters, or when you were fucking me within an inch of my life. Why now?”

Steve chuckled, pushing his hand through his hair.

“You made me plenty nervous in the Three Sisters. I put my foot in my mouth at least three times, just now it’s…worse. I know you better.”

Bucky smirked.

“You know me _a lot_ better,” he agreed, nodding for emphasis.

Steve blushed again.

“I meant as a person, but…yeah, that, too. I mean, this,” he motioned to his face, “This is just you, and sometimes Nat. I was in the Army, Buck. Same army as…”

Teeth clamping down, Steve looked away as he cut himself off.

“It’s just a body,” Bucky said slowly. “You use it, or you lose it, no need to get so out of shape about it,” 

“No, you idiot,” Steve laughed, “I get nervous ‘cause I want you to like me.”

Bucky made his way to the couch and hesitated before choosing to sit down on the opposite end of the couch from Steve.

“I still don’t get it,” he admitted. “Why are you so nervous about something you already have? Seems useless to me.”

Steve ducked his head, looking down at his hands.

“Do I, though?”

Bucky shifted on the couch so that he could better look at Steve, pulling one leg up onto the cushions, and angling his body towards the Alpha.

“I truly hate it when other people touch me, especially Alphas. You, I like close. I shouldn’t. You’re everything that should be a threat, everything that should trigger me. You’re different. I like you close.”

“Even after what I did? After turning down your…offer?”

Now it was Bucky’s turn to blush. He shifted his metal fingers, triggering recalibration. He liked how it felt, a kind of shivering pain in his brain, like rolling your neck, or stretching out your spine.

“Uh, about that… I was informed that I should, uhm, apologise, I think.”

Steve looked at him, his blue eyes brilliant, but cautious.

“Apologise…for what, exactly?” 

Bucky looked at the soft grey cloth of the couch, tugging at the seam between cushions with his fingers.

“I…might not have been...listening...to you then.”

Steve’s brows drew together as he frowned.

“When? Buck, a lot’s happened.”

Bucky rolled his eyes.

“The last time we actually talked?”

The frown on Steve’s face deepened, two furrows appearing between his eyes. He stared at Bucky for a long, silent minute.

“You’re terrible at apologizing,” he said flatly. “You didn’t listen to anything I said?”

“I listened to some, but I got distracted!” Bucky weakly defended himself.

“Distracted?” Steve asked incredulously. “By what?”

Bucky winced and admitted quietly.

“Your tits.”

Steve blushed and sputtered, “My what?”

Bucky threw his hands out.

“You get on me for being shirtless, but those super-tight, see-through shirts you parade around make your tits stand out. I could literally stare at your nipples the whole time you were talking! So, I did…” Bucky mumbled the last words quietly.

Closing his arms tightly over his chest, Steve flushed even darker. Bucky didn't have the heart to tell him it only made his tits look even better with how self-conscious he looked.

“I get hot all the time,” he mumbled, “and it’s hard to find shirts that fit both my waist and my chest.”

“Steve,” Bucky said gently. “Those things are so much worse than being shirtless. You have no idea. Basically it’s really hard to look you in the face, you know?”

“No,” Steve muttered belligerently, “I…don’t know what to do with this.”

“You don’t have to do anything, just telling you how it is,” Bucky shrugged, managing to sneak peek at the bulging pecs being pushed up by folded forearms. 

“No, with you not listening. I don’t know what to do with that. We… God, we’re bad at this. Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

Bucky took a deep breath, remembering what Michael told him. That it was worth it. Worth the effort, and letting himself be vulnerable.

“When you talked about what you wanted,” Bucky started hesitantly, “All I heard was that it’s the permanent bond or nothing and I…got angry.”

“I remember that part,” Steve said, teasing lightly, “but that’s… It’s what I meant, but… The way you say it isn’t. I would never give you an ultimatum like that. I only wanted…to be clear what I’d expect, in the future, if we were together. So you wouldn’t… So you could say no, if you didn’t want the same things. After all you’ve been through, you deserve the chance to know what you’re getting into and say no.”

Bucky ducked his head, looking at the couch again.

“It was pointed out that I wasn’t listening to you very attentively…or at all, at times. I only clued in at the end, thought you meant bond or nothing and got pissed.” Bucky looked up at Steve. “I get mean when I’m angry. Or hurt.”

“I know,” Steve said gently, reaching out a hand that visibly hesitated before moving to brush damp strands of hair behind Bucky ear, “You also repeat yourself when you’re nervous.” Drawing his hand back, he sat up straighter. “If you need time, I can give you time. I can give you anything, Bucky, but my promise not to bond you because I,” Steve looked down at his hands again, “Look how well that worked last time.”

Bucky leaned into the fleeting touch.

“I know you didn’t mean to,” Bucky admitted. “I only said you broke your word to hurt you,”

“But I did break it,” Steve said harshly, “and I’ll do it again.”

“I said, I know it wasn’t your fault,” Bucky repeated. “I’m sorry.” he added, confused and taken off guard at the way Steve was reacting so harshly to his explanation. He had apologised, why wasn’t it making things better?

Pressing his lips together, Steve shook his head.

“It’s… There’s nothing for you to be sorry for. I know it’s hard for you to apologize, so…thank you, but intentions aside, it’s true and…that’s the reason we fought in the first place. I will do it again, Bucky, and you’ve made it damn clear you don’t want that. And I understand,” Steve added quickly without looking up, “I’d never want one again either, if I were you, but I can’t…give you _that_ , no matter what kind of person that makes me.”

Bucky leaned back, anger sparking in his chest, but making a conscious decision to calm down, to breathe, and keep his emotions in check.

“Is the bond the only thing that you want from me?” Bucky asked, making an effort to keep his voice calm.

“No!” Steve blurted instantly. “God, no,” he added, lowering his voice.

“Because temporary bond aside, all we would need to do was put my mask on you and you wouldn’t be able to bite. Permanent bond is not an issue then. So, sex isn’t totally out of the question. So, what else would you like besides the permanent bond? Tell me.”

Steve’s mouth opened, then closed again, his eyes growing wider by the moment. 

“Wait, what?” Steve blurted

Bucky really, truly wanted to roll his eyes. He didn’t though, which he felt was huge sacrifice on his part.

“Now who’s the one not listening,” Bucky grumbled recalibrating his arm to calm himself.

“I _heard_ you,” Steve said, shifting an inch closer to Bucky. “That’s just the kind of thing my mind would want me to have you say.”

“Steve, I’m not an idiot. I knew we temporarily bonded when you didn’t bite me. You think I didn’t consider that fact when I offered sex again? Please,” Bucky huffed. “Now answer my question,” Bucky demanded.

“I want…” Steve threw up his hands. “Romance. Getting to know each other over dates, and…a relationship. Not… When you made your offer, it sounded like it was just for sex. Nothing else, and you said bonding was off the table before, so… What was I supposed to think?”

Bucky wrinkled his nose a little.

“Why bother with the romance when we can already skip to the good parts?”

Thankfully, Steve laughed.

“Because I want to get to know you. I kind of want you to know me. Sex is great, but I went twenty six years without before meeting you. It’s not…a fixation?”

Bucky jerked his head up to stare at Steve.

“Wait,” he said, “you hadn’t been with anyone before me? Ever?”

Steve tilted his head to the side, looking at him searchingly. 

“No, I told you I was waiting.”

“I thought you meant the rut!” Bucky’s heart was hammering now. “Not… Not _ever_?!”

“Hey, whoa,” Steve said, holding up a hand as if he’d touch Bucky, but didn’t move it more than halfway to him, “What’s happening?”

“I thought you knew what you were doing!” Bucky’s voice was getting higher with every word, quickly edging into a squeak.

Steve grinned, moving his hand at last and taking Bucky’s metal one in his long fingers.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. It’s okay, calm down. I don’t regret anything we did. Do you?”

Bucky shook his head.

“I already told you I don’t, but… I would have been more careful if I knew it was your first time.”

“Then I’m glad you didn’t, because I wouldn’t change a thing.” 

Squeezing Bucky’s hand, Steve hesitated yet again and then brought Bucky’s fingers to his lips. He kissed Bucky’s finger tips, not appearing to mind the chill of the metal against his skin at all. 

Bucky grinned, feeling warm in his belly. 

“Yeah? I could grab my mask now and we could…”

Though his eyes darkened, Steve said, “Would you be mad at me if I asked to take things slow?”

Bucky huffed and slid down to slump on the couch, but he didn’t pull his hand from Steve’s grip.

“What does that even mean?” he asked, an edge of a whine to his voice.

“It means, come with me to dancing class? Then dinner? I’ll cook. No sex. Not until we know each other better.”

“Why?” Bucky demanded. “You think I'm gonna change my mind?”

Steve sighed, squeezing Bucky’s hand. Even as he did, though, he slid closer.

“I wouldn’t take it well if you did, if we move too fast, but you got the right to tell me no, Buck.”

Bucky sighed. 

“I’m not one for changing my mind easily, you know.”

“Let me be sure, too?” Steve asked, blue eyes pleading.

“When I met you, you were a font of self-confidence, where did it all go?” Bucky rumbled, but tilted his body closer to Steve, glad for the heat of the Alpha so close to him.

“I told you,” Steve answered, now kissing the back of the metal hand, “You make me nervous.”

“You stand on top of a building and are amused, but _I_ make you nervous.” Steve smiled and nodded, so Bucky rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay. Slow it is, but you need to buy new shirts!”

Tilting his head back, Steve laughed, long and happy like Bucky hadn’t heard in weeks. Bucky could only stare, captivated, until Steve stopped and just _smiled_ , fond and happy. The emotion filtered clear through the bond, and Bucky had the striking thought that it was his fault. He’d caused this.

“You sure you want me to change my shirts?” Steve asked with a teasing glint in his eyes. The little shit was already pushing, before Bucky could answer, he was leaning even closer, completely in Bucky’s space. “Can I do something?”

Bucky smirked.

“You can do a lot.” 

“You need me to ask first?” Steve asked, and yeah, he was definitely pushing.

“I need you naked, but if you’re going to surprise me with unreasonable requests then yes, I do need you to warn me, so that I can brace myself properly,” Bucky said seriously, slumping even more on the couch.

“You need me, huh?” Steve said, his voice low, with a hint of a growl. Even as he asked the question, he was releasing Bucky’s hand and reaching both hands toward Bucky’s face. No, his neck, and not his hands, his wrists. The Alpha scent glands and, _oh_ , Steve wanted to mark him.

Well, two could play this game.

Bucky arched back, tilting his head back far enough it not only exposed his whole neck, but made the tendons on it stand out sharply.

“Oh, Jesus,” Steve murmured, lust shooting through the bond. 

Both hands froze in the air, Steve’s eyes growing huge and luminous. Smirking, Bucky grabbed the left and pulled it to his throat. Pressing it against him, he rubbed himself against it like a cat, leaving Steve’s scent all over him. Then he surged forward, pushing Steve down on the couch. The Alpha went, trusting him not to push too far, and Bucky’s heart squeezed, even as he tilted Steve’s throat up, then licked over the glands there, leaving his own scent behind. His knees were locked hard against Steve’s hips, holding them together, making Bucky aware of any and all movements Steve might make.

“Bucky,” Steve gasped, hands grasping Bucky’s shoulders, “Fuck, I… You gotta let me up.”

“Almost done,” Bucky answered, tilting Steve’s head the other way and groaning when it moved with the slightest pressure. Licking his other scent gland, Bucky finally, slowly sat back. Like a rocket, Steve was off the couch, the reason why obvious in his shorts. Fuck, but Steve was hung. Bucky wondered how it would feel to get fucked by that cock when Steve wasn’t in rut.

“I, um, tomorrow?” Steve said, breathless and babbling. “Dinner? Dancing? I am really bad, but you wanted to… Before you said, so… Dancing?”

“Sure, instead of having sex with you in our bedroom I guess I can simulate having sex with you publicly on a dance floor,” Bucky said thoughtfully, bringing his metal finger to his lips and puckering them against the cool metal.

Steve’s eyes managed to grow wider

“Okay, bad idea.”

“No, no,” Bucky said loudly. “I'm beginning to like it! I think I need to go shopping though. I don’t think I have clothes tight enough to suit a dance class.”

“I really enjoy shopping,” Steve said slowly. “Can I come?”

“No.”

“Please?” Steve wheedled. “I’ll be good. I help Pepper all the time.”

“Oh, it’s not about your ability to help me,” Bucky promised. “It’s about my ability to render you incoherent.”

“Smile,” Steve commanded, “Done.”

Bucky laughed and Steve made a strangled sound.

“I still want to surprise you,” Bucky insisted

“O-Okay,” Steve managed. “Um, then I’ll…go?” He turned toward the door, then whirled back around. “Tomorrow’s too far away. Dinner? Tonight? We can watch a movie?”

“Wear a tight shirt,” Bucky said, “and I’ll come watch.”

Flushing again, Steve nodded and actually made it to the door this time before he turned around .

“Um, you can, come to my floor whenever you want, or ask JARVIS and I’ll… I’ll come find you.”

“Okay,” Bucky said, smiling slowly as he realized Steve was finding excuses not to leave. “I’ll see you in a few hours.” 

“Okay,” Steve said, fumbling with the handle before spilling out into the hall. He threw one last look back at Bucky, then closed the door behind him. As he stared at the door, Bucky realised he was happy. Bewildered by the strangeness that was Steve Rogers, but happy nonetheless. And so was Steve, if the bond was telling the truth. It wasn’t strong enough to tell him everything Steve was feeling, but he could feel that. 

Bucky thought that maybe that would be enough.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is delivered to you so fast because of the wesome NurseDarry who worked day and night to beta it :)

The moment they walked into the dance studio, Steve knew he’d made a mistake. It hadn’t bothered him coming here alone, or with Pepper, but with Bucky at his side all he could smell was that this place was another Alpha’s territory. He had forgotten, completely forgotten, that the dance instructor was an Alpha. Another Alpha, who could try to challenge him for his claim on Bucky, who was dressed to the nines, and Steve hadn’t bonded him yet. Hadn’t made him _his_. Bucky’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t seem to react outwardly in any other way.

Yanking hard on his instincts, Steve pulled Bucky to the side. 

“I need,” he muttered and pulled Bucky close by the hip. 

Pressing his nose beneath Bucky’s jaw, he inhaled. The hand not holding Bucky close, fussed with Bucky’s high starched collar, then straightened it as if it wasn’t perfectly straight already. As if Bucky’s appearance wasn’t perfect. The look Bucky gave him when he leaned back said he knew exactly what Steve was up to, marking him, ensuring it was fresh, and that no one could ignore Steve’s scent on Bucky.

“Sorry,” Steve mumbled.

“No you’re not,” Bucky chided, but his heart wasn’t in it. Steve didn’t think that it was the marking that was bothering him, though. He hadn’t tried to stop Steve. Even back at the Three Sisters, Bucky had let Steve get away with acting on his Alpha instincts. 

Smiling slowly, Steve shrugged.

“No, I’m not.” 

Lifting a hand, Steve pretended as if he was tucking some hair behind Bucky’s ear, but that was as immaculate as the rest of him. As his wrist brushed Bucky’s temple, Steve stilled and bit his lip, lowering his hand slowly. Instincts satisfied, Steve’s brain had finally supplied that he might not be the only one uncomfortable with being in another Alpha’s territory.

“You all right? We can go, if you want. I forgot the teacher here was an Alpha. It didn’t matter until… Well, you.”

“Worried about losing me?” Bucky teased, but he still wasn’t putting his all into it. A front, trying to make himself all right by pretending it was so. Steve had done that enough times he knew how it worked, and about as well. Meaning, it didn't.

“With how you look?” Steve answered easily, because flirting with Bucky was shockingly effortless. “Everyone wants you, Buck. I’m the luckiest guy in the place. Hell, in the city.”

It was more than true. Bucky had gone all out for their date. The pressed black slacks were fitted perfectly, showing off his thick thighs, muscled calves, and long legs without clinging too tightly. The white shirt was opaque, but Steve could make out the muscles of his torso beneath, the lean lines of his shoulders, and the curve beneath his pecs. The moment he’d opened the door and seen Bucky, his dancing shoes gleaming in the light, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, Steve had been lost. He was the most beautiful thing Steve had ever seen. Elegant but sexy, and so far out of his league Steve had felt the need to go back to his room and change into something nearly as nice, not the simple khakis and crappy button-up shirt he’d picked out himself.

Bucky smirked at him and stepped into Steve’s space, pressing them together from hip to chest.

“You like it?” Bucky asked as he trailed his hand down Steve’s back, ending at the dip in his waist, just above the swell of his ass. He spread his fingers there, leaving Steve hyper-aware of his touch, his heat. “Like it enough to let me lead?” 

Bucky took a step forward, his chest pushing at Steve, forcing Steve take a step back. Bucky followed, insinuating his foot between Steve’s, matching his movement perfectly to stay plastered to Steve’s chest. His other hand landed on Steve’s shoulder, slid up to the neck and cupped behind it. 

“You would look so good,” he murmured as he twisted, somehow pressing Steve backwards, bending him into a dip, so only Bucky’s hand behind his neck held him up. The hand on the small of his back made Steve feel secure, even as he hung in Bucky’s grip. One of Steve’s legs, the one not caged between Bucky’s, lifted in and instinctive attempt to right his balance, ending pressed hard against Bucky’s hip, even as his hands did to his chest.

“See?” Bucky said, “You’re a natural at this.”

“Jesus,” Steve breathed, “you sure you wanna be seen out with a dip like me?”

Bucky snorted, righting Steve again as several patrons spontaneously clapped at the show.

“You may be an idiot,” he conceded, “but I wouldn’t be here with anyone else.”

“You can lead,” Steve blurted. Scratching at the back of his neck, he added, “Might not crush your toes so much.”

“I did consider steel-toed boots, not gonna lie,” Bucky admitted, turning so that they faced the instructor.

“Might have been a smart call, much as I like your shoes.”

Bucky shot him a quick look and a smirk. 

“Nah, serum will take care of it.”

Steve didn’t get a chance to comment on how it was the shoes he was worried about because the instructor called the class to attention. Unable to help himself, Steve stepped closer to Bucky, lifting his hand to lay against his lower back. His scent was all over the Omega now, from nose to toes, but the touch, the way Bucky leaned just slightly into his arm, was what really calmed him.

“You’re too good to me,” Steve muttered under his breath, knowing Bucky would hear as the teacher outlined their lesson for the night.

“Am I?”

“Yeah,” Steve answered, just as quietly, his fingers moving in a circle at the base of Bucky’s spine. “Remind me to thank you properly later.”

Bucky tensed and shifted them a step to the right. Steve moved with, as in tune with Bucky as he’d never been with Pepper. They weren’t even dancing yet, but it was as easy as breathing. The ease took him by surprise enough that it took him a moment to realize they were moving to get out of the way of a giggling Alpha-Omega pair. When he did, his head snapped around, meeting the other Alpha’s gaze. They glared, the other pair taking the other half of the room, and Steve managed to relax. 

Then he realized Bucky had moved to avoid physical contact with them, and Steve doubted it was for his sake. Even with Steve’s instincts in overdrive, his desire to protect Bucky, keep him from other Alphas, Bucky was even more on edge. He’d smelled that other Alpha before him, moved before Steve had realized they needed to. 

Moving his hand from Bucky’s back to his hip, he pulled him in close and murmured, “We can go. We don’t have to stay.”

Bucky smiled, quick, and looked over Steve’s shoulder to the teacher.

“Lesson’s starting.”

“Doesn’t mean we gotta stay, if you don’t want to.”

“Don’t wanna dance with me, now?”

Steve huffed, seeing the challenge in Bucky’s eyes and caving before it.

“Just worried about your shoes, s’all.”

Bucky moved his hand from the small of Steve’s back to his ass and spread his fingers there, fearlessly, starring Steve in the eyes. Steve yelped. 

“Mr. Rogers!” the teacher yelled out. “Please take position.”

“Jerk,” Steve grumbled, pulling Bucky into position. 

Though he knew the other Alphas in the room would take it as weakness, Steve put both his hands on Bucky’s shoulders instead of his hip, as he wasn’t leading.

The teacher tsked, almost instantly, striding over. Both Steve and Bucky tensed, eyeing the Alpha as he walked towards them. He didn’t touch either of them, having been doing this long enough to know better.

“Face your partner, that’s good, but you don’t hold him like this is high school. Take his hand, there…” the Alpha blinked as Bucky reversed Steve’s grip, “Ah, he’s leading. All right. Now, he puts his hand on your back,” Bucky’s hand pressed again to his spine, “Good. Does your partner have much experience with dancing?”

“Loads,” Steve answered, more feeling than seeing Bucky huff at him.

“Okay,” the Alpha motioned towards the woman manning the boom box. Turning away, he said loudly to the class, “Let’s start off with the side step. Easy review.”

The music started up, big brass instruments crashing through the room. The Alpha moved away and Steve felt the tension in Bucky’s arms ease a fraction. His own tension eased as well. He’d forgotten how fucking maddening it was to be courting an Omega. Hadn’t had to deal with it since Peggy, who hadn’t wanted a bond either. Come to think of it, all Omegas who Steve had been interested in never wanted a bond with him. They might have had their reasons but still...

“Side step,” Steve mumbled, “Right.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow at him.

“Have you actually been to this class?”

“It’s my fifth lesson,” Steve admitted sheepishly. “I did tell you I was terrible at this.”

“You just need a better teacher,” Bucky answered, voice dropping, as he pulled Steve closer by the hand on his back. “Side step _is_ easy. Just step to the right,” Bucky led, stepping to his left, as Steve stepped to his right, “and then back. Easy peasy.”

“Easy shmeasy,” Steve muttered, unable to see his feet now that Bucky had pulled him in tight.

“Steve,” Bucky said sharply, “look at me, not at your feet. You know where they’re gonna move, you don’t need to see it. You know how I’m gonna move, just follow.”

Taking a breath, Steve looked into Bucky’s eyes - and what a hardship _that_ was - and tried to do as he was told. Bucky moved them back, then to the right again, a slow easy sway. Then the shit tried to change it up without warning Steve, turning instead of just stepping to the side, and Steve promptly put his foot down on Bucky’s shiney shoe.

Though he cursed, Bucky’s pulled his foot from beneath Steve’s and yanked him in tight again. Tighter, even, and wasn’t _that_ distracting. He could feel the hard planes of muscles from Bucky’s thighs to his chest, pressed against his own. Their shirts were thin, the Omega’s heat rolling off him in waves, and the smell, Jesus, Steve could never get enough of Bucky’s smell.

“You’re thinking too much,” Bucky accused. “Dancing’s like having sex. You read the body language of your partner and match it. You had no problems reading me when you were fucking me.” 

“That was sex. We’re not having sex,” Steve said mulishly.

Rolling his eyes, Bucky started them moving again. Side to side, easy, simple steps. And then he tried to turn them again. This time Steve managed for a few beats before he stepped on Bucky’s foot. Bucky yanked his foot free, turned him faster, his hand squeezing Steve’s hard, the hand on his back digging in. For a moment, it felt like fighting, not dancing, and Steve’s heart slammed against his ribs.

“Excellent, Mr. Rogers!” the teacher called from the other side of the room. “We’ll make a dancer of you yet.”

“What?” Steve asked and Bucky loosened his grip, turning them slowly, side to side, like Steve hadn’t just fucked it up twice.

“Dunno how relaxing this is gonna be for you if I gotta make you think you’re about to get punched to get it right,” Bucky drawled, Brooklyn seeping into his accent and making shivers rush up and down Steve’s spine.

“God, that’s sexy when you do that,” Steve breathed, “Stop it.”

“Stop being sexy?” Bucky repeated. “Don’t think I can, doll.”

Steve shivered again.

“No, that, sounding like you’re from 1940s Brooklyn, ‘cause I just wanna tear your clothes off.”

“Good to know what gets you going,” Bucky teased.

“All right, and the open side-step, to an open dance position,” the teacher called.

Taking his hand from Steve’s back, Bucky slid it up his side to his shoulder. Stepping back so Steve’s hand fell from his shoulder, he then slid it all the way down his arm to his hand. Every inch of skin where Bucky had touched tingled, distracting Steve as they kept dancing, now at arms length, and really, who had thought _this_ was a good idea. At least Steve couldn’t step on Bucky’s feet.

“And side bumps,” the teacher called.

Steve groaned and Bucky laughed at him. The laugh was short though, cut off quickly and Steve wished Bucky laughed more. He must have, before it all. Back when they didn’t have classes for dancing like this because you just went to a dance hall and figured it out. Bucky must have been amazing when he was with a partner who actually knew what they were doing.

“Hip check,” Bucky announced.

“What?” Steve blurted, freezing in his side step before Bucky impatiently squeezed his hand.

“Hip check,” Bucky repeated. “Step forward like you’re going to hip check me. I’ll meet you.”

Blinking - because it couldn’t be that easy, right? - Steve took a step forward and lightly checked Bucky with his hip. Grinning, Bucky stepped back and Steve followed, only to step in and do it again with their other hips. Like the teacher had, like the rest of the class had, and Steve didn’t step on Bucky’s toes _once_.

“See?” Bucky said with that same grin, “You’re a natural.”

“Okay,” the teacher called, “spin bumps, and we’ll go from warm up to learn something new.”

Worried again, Steve looked at Bucky nervously, but he just said, “Same thing, okay? But I’m gonna spin you. Follow my lead, Stevie.”

Steve fought the urge to whine. Grin turning wry as if he’d heard it, Bucky stepped in. Steve followed, their hips tapping, and fought the urge to hold his breath as Bucky turned them both. Then they were stepping back, and back in, spinning again and when he didn’t have to lead, this really wasn’t difficult at all.

“You’re incredible,” Steve murmured.

“Nah,” Bucky protested, “You’re just thinking too hard.”

“Think maybe I just needed the right partner,” Steve countered.

“I might have to agree,” the dance instructor said as he breezed by, “ _Much_ improved, Mr. Rogers.”

Steve didn’t notice the tension in Bucky until the man passed, heading back to the front. Even then it only vanished a little and Steve frowned. There was no way around it, Bucky was very uncomfortable. Yet, he’d refused every time Steve had tried to get him to leave.

“You hate it here,” Steve said, frowning.

“Nonsense,” Bucky said firmly.

“It ain’t nonsense,” Steve argued, “I got eyes. Never seen you so damned tense when you ain’t about to take my head off.”

“Your accent gets worse when you get all worked up,” Bucky said. Which wasn’t an answer, it was a distraction. Bucky was actively trying to distract Steve from his discomfort. Whether with his body, or his teasing, he was trying so damn hard to make Steve think he was fine. 

Oh.

 _Oh_.

He was trying too hard. There was no doubt he didn’t want to be here, but he was trying. Trying to ignore the other Alphas and his discomfort, trying to keep Steve from noticing, because… Steve didn’t know why _exactly_ , but he knew it was true. Bucky was trying too hard, and it was for him.

As Bucky moved to spin them again, Steve grabbed Bucky’s wrist and yanked him toward the door.

“We’re leaving.”

“Huh?” Bucky said, resisting a little. Steve only yanked harder, tugging him past several couples who glanced at them in surprise.

“I said, we’re leaving. We’re going home.”

“But it’s something you wanted to do?” Bucky said, sounded confused now, but not resisting Steve’s pull.

Outside the door, he stopped, taking a deep breath of Alpha-free air. Then he spun, backing Bucky against the door. He crowded into the Omega’s space, to see that he could, to see if Bucky _let_ him.

“Remember,” Steve said, laying his hand against Bucky’s throat, “when I said you’re too good to me?”

“Yes?” Bucky asked, still confused.

“This? Pushing yourself into places you’re not comfortable? Not for me, Buck. It’s not what you deserve.”

Something flashed in Bucky’s eyes, but he remained still, frustratingly holding his tongue. Steve saw it now, felt it how Bucky was hiding his responses, his true self from Steve just to…be what Steve wanted him to be.

“Bucky,” Steve pleaded, “You gotta be honest with me. Tell me if you wanna leave some place, of if you’re not comfortable. Don’t let me… Don’t let me hurt you. Please.”

Bucky tilted his head to the side.

“You confuse me,” he admitted finally.

“All the more reason to talk to me,” Steve said, exasperated. “When we guess and assume, we fuck it up.”

“You don’t like it when I say I don’t care for something, then you don’t like it when I do it anyway.” Bucky raised his hands, palms out in a universal gesture of confusion. “I’m trying!”

“I know,” Steve said quickly, “That’s why I’m saying you’re being _too_ good to me. Tell me I’m wrong, tell me you were comfortable in there and enjoying yourself. You know I’ll believe you, don’t you?”

“I like dancing,” Bucky said slowly.

“But?” Steve prompted, running his fingers down Bucky’s throat.

“I was kept in solitary confinement for three years, being in a room with so many moving targets is… It’s really hard to keep track of all of them at the same time. Besides, you know I hate Alphas close to me. It fucks up my instincts.”

Steve was starting to hate that the brutal way Bucky fought carried into other spheres of his life. He was just as brutal, as ruthless, towards himself as he was towards his enemies. There was no mercy for them, or for his own suffering. Looking at Bucky’s confused and wary face now, Steve realised that it would be on him to watch out for Bucky crossing that line, since Bucky didn’t even seem to recognize there was a line at all.

“Then let’s go home,” Steve wheedled, “There’s music there and you’re the only teacher, or partner, I want and I’ll be the only person, or Alpha, there.”

“If you want,” Bucky said casually, but he looked a little easier now, a bit more relaxed.

“I want,” Steve said firmly, “Don’t like it much, all those eyes on you. Wanting you. You look so damned good, Buck. Snazzy as hell.”

“Yeah?” Bucky moved from the wall, using his bulk to crowd Steve now. “You want to touch?”

Steve whined, because _hell yes_ , he wanted to touch. Yet now he knew he was right when he’d asked to go slow. They both needed this, needed to figure out the boundaries, learn how to be together, not just fuck. Sex they were good at, it was the rest of it they couldn’t do very well.

“You know I do,” Steve said, his voice low. Then he hesitated, because maybe Bucky didn’t. “Don’t you?”

Bucky stared at him, wary once more.

“You only touched me when you were in rut…”

“I’m touching you now,” Steve murmured, lowering his voice so it was only for Bucky’s ears, “Haven’t stopped touching you since we came in here. You know how hard it is for me _not_ to touch you, Bucky?” His hand followed the line of Bucky’s throat, slipping beneath his collar to the dip of his collar bone. “The problem is, once I start... If I get my mouth on you,” he murmured, leaning in, needing that uncertainty gone, “I’m not sure I could stop. The way you smell, the way you look…” 

Steve saw that his words were working, the wariness was disappearing from Bucky’s eyes, his body curving ever so slightly towards Steve. It occurred to him then, that it wasn’t that Bucky cared for sex with Steve and nothing more. Sex was what he understood, what he knew. Bucky used sex to frame his interactions with people. Those he would have it with, and those he wouldn’t. Bucky had told him that much before, only Steve hadn’t understand his words. Usually, Steve would be in the second category, the ones Bucky wouldn’t let touch him, yet Bucky did. Bucky wanted him. Feelings, emotions… the Omega didn’t understand Steve when he talked in those terms at all. It didn't mean Bucky didn’t have feelings, just that he didn’t _think_ in those terms. 

“You’re sex on legs, Bucky Barnes. There isn’t a moment I _don’t_ want to touch you, wrap those legs around my waist.” Steve allowed his fingers lower, dipping between the fabric where Bucky had left the top two buttons of his shirt open. His eyes followed, mouth going dry, and he felt his control slipping just like he’d said it would. “Taste you, every inch of you. Didn’t get to. Didn’t get enough of you. Don’t think I’ll ever have enough.”

“I like…hearing you say it,” Bucky said, his voice small enough that Steve’s eyes snapped back to his face, “when you’re not in rut. I would like it more if you touched me, but…this is nice too.”

Pulling his fingers from Bucky’s skin, feeling them burn, he admitted quietly, “I might never stop. Sure you want…” Steve stopped and shook his head; the last thing he should be doing was questioning Bucky’s desires after he’d expressed them. “You want me to stop, you tell me. I’ll stop, okay?”

Now Bucky was smiling at him, a wide, crooked thing that spelled trouble for Steve. So much trouble. Steve wrapped his hand loosely about Bucky’s wrist and couldn’t wait to find out just how much.

\----

Steve dodged Sam’s left, ducked under his right, and launched a right at his ribs. The punch was pulled, Steve made sure of that, but Sam still wheezed and took a step back to lean on the ropes. Grabbing the bottle of water, he poured it over his face, then into his mouth and Steve rolled his neck, waiting for him to come back. Sam was great as a wingman, incredible in the air with moves that were far more acrobatic than Tony’s, but he wasn’t that great at one-on-one combat. Thus, the training.

“So you’ve been on how many dates?” Sam asked, breathing hard. 

It was Sam’s way of asking for a breather and Steve acquiesced. They’d been at it for an hour now; a short break wouldn’t hurt anything.

“Three,” Steve answered, going to his own corner for a towel to wipe off the sweat.

“Three?” Sam repeated. “Isn’t that, like, a date…”

“Every night,” Steve agreed. “First night, I just… I couldn’t stand not being with him, you know?” Steve smiled ruefully. “It wasn’t much, just dinner and I showed him Netflix.” Though he knew his smile morphed into something dopey, Steve just didn’t care. “You know, he didn’t know what Netflix was? I got to introduce him to Netflix and Hulu and HBO Go.”

Sam laughed, leaning against the ropes.

“So you’re not the one behind the times for once. That must feel nice.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, slinging the towel around his neck, “but it was more…just really adorable? Apparently he’s a huge sci-fi nerd, so I looked up the best sci-fi of the last ten years. We watched Fifth Element.”

“Dude,” Sam said emphatically, “ _great_ pick. What’d he think.”

Steve smile split his face so wide it hurt.

“He kept saying ‘multi-pass’ later, just like Leelo does. It was…”

“Adorable,” Sam rolled his eyes, “I get it. Dude, you are so gone on this guy.”

“A little,” Steve admitted, smiling down at his shoes.

Sam sighed. He looked uncomfortable, cautious, and Steve braced himself. On the one hand, he really appreciated Sam’s outside view of things, his calm perspective. He was a very practical man, not prone to flights of fancy, like Tony or Steve. That also meant he was often saying things Steve didn’t care to think, much less hear.

“The guy makes you happy, I can see that, but are you sure you’re in the right place for this kind of commitment? Are you sure he’s willing to make it?”

Frowning, Steve unwound the tape on his hands, just for something to do.

“We’re taking it slow, Sam. To make sure we’re both ready.”

“I know,” Sam said earnestly, “and I’m so proud of you for that, but, man, don’t you think this is a really fast turnabout for him?”

Steve let out a long breath.

“A little,” he admitted, not looking up at Sam, “the bond thing, especially, and how he was acting on our second date… I’m afraid he’s pushing himself too hard.”

“You are?” Sam said, sounding surprised.

Steve rolled his eyes, grabbing the roll of tape and re-wrapping his hand.

“Yeah. I’m fucked up, I’m not blind. Something happened with him while he was gone, something that made him think twice about him and me, but I don’t know what and he… I don’t think he and I even think in the same terms. I mean… I’m just guessing, okay?”

“Okay,” Sam said gently and Steve blew out another breath. He really didn’t want Sam to judge Bucky on Steve’s suppositions. 

“I’m not sure he understands emotions and I don’t mean _my_ emotions, or his _own_ emotions, I mean…any emotions. He thinks in terms of physical affection because that’s,” Steve had to clear his throat, “that’s what they taught him.”

“Sex,” Sam said bluntly. 

“Yeah, but also just…touching. He didn’t think I wanted him, because I wasn’t touching him.” Steve sighed and rubbed his face. “It’s so odd, you know? He can take in a person at a glance and immediately know who is interested in who, who is frustrated, who is turned on…but it’s like he has this huge hole in his perception where _he_ is. He reads a stranger in five seconds flat, but I tell him I want him and he doesn’t _see_ it. How is that even possible?”

Sam squirted more water into his mouth, looking at Steve thoughtfully.

“You know I’m not a psychiatrist, right?” Sam cautioned.

Smiling, Steve nodded. Sam might not have had any formal training, but he had vast experience with traumatised people. More than that, Steve trusted him. Trusted him enough to tell him things about Bucky he’d never tell another soul.

“Taking that into consideration, I think you hit the nail on the head with your whole theory.”

“You do?”

Sam nodded.

“The way he was treated? His sense of self was all but erased. That’s probably why he’s so mean most of the time. Once he started regaining some semblance of agency, of himself, he latched onto his ability to rebel, to refuse and say no.” He paused, one hand up as a guard, the other fist frozen mid-jab. “That doesn’t explain why he’s so good at reading people, though.”

Steve hesitated.

“It’s more guesswork; he doesn’t like to talk about himself, but I kind of think it’s a bit like Natasha. They were trained to read people, but, at the same time, they’re not part of the equation. They use what other people feel against them, what they feel themselves is irrelevant. Like Nat, he’s internalized that - that’s the word?” Sam nodded and Steve gave up pretending he was doing anything but standing and waiting. “He’s internalized that his own emotions don’t matter. It’s his Alpha’s… _my_ feelings that matter.”

The face Sam made, scrunching up his nose and eyes, spoke more volumes about how disgusted he was than his next words.

“You know, kids from abusive homes? They’re amazing at instinctively recognizing people’s body language.”

Steve winced.

“Sounds like Bucky,” he murmured. “I’m working overtime, trying to make sure neither of us hurts the other.”

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about, Steve. You can’t do that all the time. That’s too much of an responsibility. You can’t take it on yourself. Nobody can.”

“What am I supposed to do then, Sam?” Steve said, knowing his voice was too sharp and, for once, not caring. “Ignore him? Tell him no again? It’s going to be hard, and it’s probably going to hurt at some point, but it’s _worth_ it. He is worth the risk.”

Sam eyed him, then asked worriedly, “The bond is still fucking with you, you know that, right?”

Steve nodded hard.

“I know. That’s part of the reason - god, there’s so many - that I wanted to do this slow. I want him… I want him to know I still want him, without the rut, or the bond. _I_ want to know that. That it’s more than shit we can’t control.”

“Okay,” Sam said slowly, coming off the ropes and rolling his shoulders, warming up again by taking jabs at the air, “tell me about the second date.”

Pulling his arms over his head, Steve stretched as well, but waited for Sam to be ready to start again.

“We tried to go to my dance class, but the teacher’s an Alpha and there was another Alpha there, so we ended up back at the Tower. And, um,” Steve felt himself blushing, and yet knew there was nothing he could do to stop it. The memory of that second date, when they’d gotten home, would forever burn his memory. “He…taught me to dance.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Sam said, holding up both hands, “You? Dancing? Pepper has been ribbing you about her sore feet for two _weeks_.” Sam almost turned around and then back to face Steve. “Wait, in just one lesson?”

Steve grinned nodding.

“It was easy, when he taught me,” he said, talking fast, the words gushing from his mouth, “It finally made _sense_. I only stepped on his toes twice, and that was right at the beginning, and he led, but still.” Steve bounced on the balls of his feet. “I can _dance_.”

“Because of Bucky?”

When Steve nodded emphatically, still grinning, Sam gave him a long look that nearly had the smile slipping off his face. He knew that look. He _hated_ that look. It was the, ‘I know shit about you that you don't know’ look.

“So if I asked you to go dancing…?”

“Bucky might punch you,” Steve answered, “but if you invited _us_ dancing, sure.”

Sam snorted, smirking wryły.

“All right, maybe he’s not as bad for you as I thought.”

Steve lost his smile, thinking of that night. How he hadn’t noticed Bucky was feeling uncomfortable. Hadn’t noticed how bad a place it was for Bucky until it got literally showed in his face. He knew, also, that Bucky wouldn’t ask to leave. He would grit his teeth and endure, not once thinking that he didn’t need to suffer.

“I think I might be the one bad for him,” Steve said quietly.

“Steve,” Sam said quickly, “stop that. Bucky’s been through a lot of trauma. It’s not the kind of thing that heals overnight, but he seems to be integrating okay. He was on his own for weeks and nothing bad happened. No super-soldier level explosion anywhere. What makes you think you, a person that genuinely cares about his well being, can hurt him?”

“I woke him up last night,” Steve said evenly, “I can’t feel his emotions, but he can feel me through his half of the bond and…the nightmares were bad. That AIM base... He shouldn’t have to deal with that, Sam.”

Tossing his towel back over the ropes, Sam shook his head.

“Yeah, and I bet he said the same shit to you.”

Steve opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“Not in so many words,” Steve said slowly.

“And you said?”

“Shut up,” Steve grumbled.

Sam’s grin could only be described as shit-eating.

“You told him to shut up?”

“No,” Steve said, “you. You shut up. Let’s go, break's over.”

Sam said, to no one in particular, “And you know it’s a breakthrough when Cap wants to punch things.” 

\----

Two days later, Steve was playing around with the paints he’d bought, enjoying the sound of Bob Ross' voice (even though he’s pretty sure Tony suggested it as a joke), when his phone rang. 

Hitting “Accept” with his pinky - his fingers were stained blue and green and white - he toggled “Speaker” and said, “I’m a little busy, Clint. Do you need something?”

“Nah,” Clint’s answer came back, small and tinny through the little speaker, “think you won’t be busy after you hear this, though. Some dude just hauled a giant fucking canvas through the lobby. I mean, fucking huge, and -”

Nat’s voice cuts over Clint’s.

“He took it into the private elevator, up to Barnes’ floor.”

Slowly, Steve lowered his brush.

“Yeah,” Clint was going on, oblivious to Steve’s reaction, “So we were going to go see it and I thought, you know who likes art? Steve likes art. Let’s call Steve.”

“I’ll be there in five,” Steve said shortly.

“See?” Clint was saying as Steve reached for a towel to wipe off his hands, “Steve _does_ like art. I was right.”

“You’re an idiot,” Natasha retorted fondly. “Steve, wait for us at the elevator.”

If he hadn’t known she was ordering him around for his own good, he would have refused. Bucky never had visitors. He sure as hell hadn’t done anything to make his little apartment more homey. Now a visitor, and a painting? And the fact Bucky had refused to pose for him, suggesting he’d done so already. 

“All right,” Steve conceded. 

Setting aside his work, Steve didn’t even change from his paint-spattered S.H.I.E.L.D. sweatshirt and jeans, just headed for his own elevator. Instead of heading to Bucky’s floor, though, he crossed his arms and waited. Though it felt like forever, the elevator finally rose to Nat’s floor above him.

“Calm down,” Natasha scolded before she even got a good look at him. “You don’t know what’s going on.”

Steve huffed a breath through his nose and didn’t say anything. Logically, he knew it was the bond making him like this. Frankly, he didn’t give a shit. Bucky had a visitor and he didn’t know about it.

The elevator lowered to Clint’s floor and the archer smiled at them both as he got on, either oblivious to the tension, or ignoring it.

“What do you think the painting is of?” he asked as the elevator descended further down.

“We’ll find out,” Nat said firmly.

The second the doors opened again, a low growl rippled from Steve’s chest. He could smell it; another Alpha had been in the hall. Not Pepper, she’s been good enough to avoid Bucky’s floor. No, this was someone else. Someone else who, as the smell suggested, had gone _into Bucky’s room_. An Alpha, in Bucky’s room, when Steve wasn’t there.

The jealousy burned more than the ice ever did.

“Whoa,” Natasha said firmly, “Steve. Calm down.”

The growl in his chest grew louder until Clint cuffed him upside his ear. A moment later, as he flinched in surprise, the hall filled with Beta pheromones. Calming him, taking the anger and the jealousy with it. Thank fucking Christ for Clint Barton.

“Cut the caveman routine,” Clint said sharply as he rapped loudly at the door.

Presently, the door cracked open, Bucky eyeing them from inside the room. His gaze was amused as it flicked from Clint, to Natasha, then to Steve, before stopping and eyeing him warily. Steve had never wanted to scent mark the Omega more in his life.

“I guess it’s true that gossip travels faster than light,” Bucky said as he opened the door wider to let them in.

“In this place, it’s instantaneous,” Clint grinned, slipping past. 

Natasha glanced at Steve, assessing, then moved in ahead of him. 

Bucky’s eyes were dark as he watched Seve. No doubt he’d felt Steve’s jealousy, his low key anger, but he wasn’t letting himself react. Well, he did, but only because Steve was learning to read Bucky, little by little. He wasn’t challenging Steve with it, was letting it be. When he went to move past, though, he reached for Steve first. His hand closed around his wrist, and Steve let out a hard breath through his nose, the tension in him unravelling for all of a moment.

Then he put his eyes on the other Alpha.

Maybe half Steve’s size at a stretch, skinny, but tall, he had blond, curly hair cut much longer than Steve would ever wear his own. It curled in loose ringlets about his head, a halo if Steve were feeling poetic - which he wasn’t. The outfit was what really set him on edge, though. There was nothing casual about it, and it was far nicer, more modern, and clearly designed to showcase the other Alpha’s slight physique. The kind of outfit Bucky would wear, the kind of thing Natasha would pick out. Nothing that he’d ever wear.

All Steve could think was that the guy had dressed up for his Omega.

“Hi,” he said, knowing his voice was cold. Knowing it, because Natasha casually stepped between themh, and Bucky’s hand tightened on his wrist.

The Alpha looked from Steve, to Bucky, and back to Steve again, his left eyebrow raising in a delicate arch.

“Hello,” the Alpha said, and thank Christ he was keeping his goddamn hands in his pockets, “You must be the Hero.”

Clint snorted.

“Hero?”

The Alpha pointed at Bucky with his thumb.

“I was told that that one was a grumpy,” Bucky made a wordless, offended exclamation at Steve’s side, “princess in need of saving and Hero there came to pull him out of his tower.”

Steve blinked slowly, not knowing how to feel about Bucky talking about him. On the one hand, elated because _Bucky was talking about him_. And on the other, it was to _this guy_. Fuck this guy. Who the hell did he think he was, anyway? With his fucking perfect curls, and his stupid leather shoes.

“I’m Clint,” Clint said to the Alpha, offering his hand. 

“Michael Lancaster,” the Alpha said, taking the offered limb. “Pleasure.”

And an Englishman. Fucking Brits, though technically his accent was American. Jersey. Fuck this guy. Fuck Brits, and fuck New Jersey. Who even liked New Jersey? There was nothing good in, or coming out of New Jersey, Steve fumed silently.

“Natasha,” Nat said, stepping forward, but not offering her hand. Omegas never did, not to an Alpha, not when it would leave their scent. Steve took a breath; like his scent would be all over Bucky’s hand, because he was still holding on to Steve’s wrist.

Steve saw Michael’s eyes dart to the place where Bucky was holding on to him and felt a thrill of victory. Yeah, let the Alpha look and see who Bucky belonged to. Who he was choosing. It wasn’t _Michael Lancaster_ he was soothing. It was Steve.

“So, we heard about a painting? It’s supposed to be huge,” Clint said excitedly. “Can we see it? After all it’s not like Barnes is all that artsy to begin with so we’re all curious.”

“Very curious,” Steve said flatly.

Michael grinned at them, wide and charming, and Steve realised he was still a very young man. Younger even than Steve, and god he had a nice smile, the fucker. Him and his damned perfect, white teeth. Brits were supposed to have fucked-up teeth.

“It’s my housewarming gift since the Grump didn’t invite me over earlier,” Michael declared.

“You bought it?” Clint asked, “A painting for Barnes? I feel like candy would go better with this guy.”

“Hey!” Bucky protested. “I’m not a barbarian!” he huffed. “Most of the time,” he admitted moments later, making the Alpha laugh again. Why did the guy need to laugh so much? And why did he have to show so many teeth while doing it?

Steve faltered, turning to look at his Omega searchingly.

“So I shouldn’t have gotten you candy?”

“Barnes has friends?” Natasha interjected dryly, shooting a sly look Bucky’s way.

“I have no idea how I acquired him,” Bucky said seriously. “Here I was one day, just minding my own business at a bar -

“- trying to start a fight,” Michael corrected.

Bucky ignored him effortlessly.

“- and this skinny thing comes up and calls me grumpy.”

“That’s because you were. The grumpiest grump to ever grump.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but he _smiled_. Damn it all to hell and _fuck this guy_. Except, a moment later, the smile vanished as Bucky met Steve’s gaze and _shit_ , he had done that. Bucky had felt that and stopped smiling. He shouldn’t be here, should let Bucky have his friend and go, but he _couldn’t_. Leaving Bucky with the Alpha… No, no he couldn’t.

Jerking his gaze from Bucky’s, he tried to at least not be the reason Bucky stopped fucking smiling.

“So, the gift?” Steve prompted. 

“I painted it,” Michael admitted easily. “I don’t usually work with paints but…it fit.”

“You’re an artist?” Clint asked, eyebrows rising. “Damn, Bucky likes ‘em creative.”

Natasha not-so-subtly punched Clint in the shoulder.

“Ow!”

“We’re friends,” Bucky said firmly, if a bit quickly, not that that made Steve’s heart rate calm down any.

Michael was watching Natasha, a slight furrow between his brows, before he jerked his attention back to Steve.

“Artist?” Michael asked casting a look over them all.

Steve cleared his throat.

“Yeah, I draw. Um, went to art school, but…the War happened, so.”

“You went to art school?” Bucky asked, his voice sounding tentatively excited. “Then you’ve got loads in common. Michael is a sculptor.”

“A-a sculptor?” Steve repeated, feeling the floor move beneath him. “Like,” he glanced at the Alpha, “that’s how you make your living?”

Nodding, Michael shrugged.

“I’m not famous or anything like that, but I get by.”

Steve looked at the obviously good quality clothes and felt his face flush. He hated it, hated himself, and hated _Michael Lancaster_ and his perfect fucking teeth.

“That, um, you couldn’t really do that, when I was growing up. You had to find a patron, or…comic books… War kind of…put a damper on most of that anyway.”

Michael frowned.

“You don’t mean the Afghanistan or Iraq wars…?” Michael’s face morphed into the perfect expression of an ‘Oh’. “Oh, you’re… Shit,” he said to Bucky, “you really did find a hero.” Before anyone could answer, or Steve’s face could calm the fuck down, he added, “But it’s a lot different now. It’s totally acceptable to make a living that way, and lots of people do it. I imagine you could go back to art school, if you had the time.”

Steve stared because, that was it? That was the reaction? No making it a big deal, just accepting it and moving on. Like it was _polite_ , like it was _nice_ , as if it was the considerate thing to do. And it was. The son-of-a-bitch was nice and considerate and had a perfect smile and great clothes and Steve _hated_ him.

“Yeah, I guess,” Steve managed.

“So, the painting?” Clint demanded, doing his best impersonation of a four year old on a trip, asking, ‘Are we there yet?’ “Can we see it?”

Michael laughed, winking at Clint and moving to the large, cloth covered canvas propped against the kitchen wall. Though he squeezed Steve’s wrist, Bucky let go and moved closer to see the gift. Helplessly drawn after, Steve followed, and couldn’t help be relieved when Natasha continued to keep herself between Michael and him.

God, he didn’t want to hurt Bucky’s friend.

Michael Lancaster on the other hand...

The Alpha untucked the sheet from about the canvas and let it fall to the floor. Steve felt his heart leap into his throat.

“Holy shit,” Clint said, a note of awe in his voice.

The painting was huge, five feet wide, and nearly seven feet tall. It had been done with oil paints, Steve could still smell it on the canvas and see it in the texture of the brushstrokes. Not that Steve could spend much time admiring about the quality of the artwork itself when Clint moved and Steve realised just what the picture was showing.

It was Bucky.

Bucky, wild and dark, sexy and dangerous, like he had been in the Three Sisters. He was sprawled in an old armchair, the picture so detailed Steve could see where the upholstery had worn thin. His Omega was dressed in jeans, one leg thrown over the arm of the chair, bare foot dangling carelessly, naked and strangely defenseless against the dark backdrop of the picture. His hand lay on the thigh, the other was dangling off the other side, a bottle of wine held loosely in his hand. Bucky’s shirt was dark red, long sleeved; just cotton, if the rest of the details were as exact. Yet, it stretched over Bucky’s chest, making Steve’s mouth dry. The denim of his jeans stretched over Bucky’s thighs and was downright obscene, delineating muscles clearly through the fabric. The play of shadows and light drew the eye to the vee of Bucky’s legs, suggesting the shadow there wasn’t just a shadow, but the outline of his hard cock. 

That wasn’t even the worst of it. The artist had focused on his throat, on the way his head was thrown back, resting against the backboard so that his tendons stood out. His hair was loose, snaking over his shoulders and the chair itself, irreverent and messy. His Omega’s grey eyes were half-closed but watchful, daring the viewer to come closer, to try their luck, even if it meant their eventual doom. 

It was a stunning piece of art. In a single pose, it captured Bucky’s mystery, his sensuality, his defiance, even that potential for softness in his bare feet and relaxed hands.

Steve _hated_ it. Never before had he wanted to rip something so exquisitely crafted to pieces. Not because it showed the world what was only _his_ to see, though there was that. It was because Bucky had _posed_ for this. He’d been in Michael’s studio, suggestive and even vulnerable, taking off his shoes and…and, Christ. Had they had sex? Had they…

No. Steve had to stop. He had to stop. Bucky was his, he only ever smelled like his.

Except when he hadn’t, the day before. He’d smelled like smoke and alcohol, a bar with strangers. Though not the scent of purposeful touching, but of too many people in a tight space. If Bucky had met Michael, it was just for drinks. Nothing more, and Bucky could have a friend. Even this guy, even a Brit with stupid hair, and perfect teeth, great style, and who was so much better at painting than Steve could ever hope to be.

When he looked to Bucky, he found the Omega’s eyes on him and made himself smile. It was tight, forced, but he was _trying_ , god damn it. That had to count for something.

“Where are you going to put it?”

Bucky’s shoulders lowered an inch and he smiled back at Steve before looking to Michael.

“I like it,” he said quietly.

Steve wanted to punch something. Preferably, one Michael Lancaster. 

“All right,” Natasha said loudly, “We’ve come, we’ve seen, we,” she looked pointedly at Steve, “are leaving.”

Bucky cast a worried glance at Steve, before looking at Nat with naked relief. It hurt, god did it it hurt, but Steve understood. He did. He was making this horrible for Bucky, taking any pleasure in the moment, and Steve _hated_ that almost as much as he hated the fucking Alpha who was watching his Omega with a tiny smile.

“Yeah,” Steve said, his tongue feeling too big for his mouth, “Okay.”

Now if he could only get his feet to follow through.

“Nice to meet you, Michael,” Natasha said, tossing her hair as she walked between him and Bucky, the look in her eyes promising that she would move Steve bodily if she had to. 

Michael frowned suddenly.

“Wait,” he snapped, the command surprising coming from a man so soft spoken until then.

Everybody froze, including Steve, who was already barely holding on to his temper.

“Yes?” Natasha turned to the painter, deceptively slow.

The Alpha was staring at her, his nostrils flaring. 

“Why do you smell like him?” he asked indicating Steve. Then he straightened out and turned to Steve. “He smelled like you, too. Why is your scent on _another_ Omega?” Michael demanded, and now there was a growl entering the artist's voice. His stance was shifting. Was it challenging Steve? Was it just Steve’s anger seeing the posture? He was just a shrimp. Steve could bench press him with one arm, and would probably barely even notice the extra weight. Was the guy seriously try to challenge him?

Lancaster circled around Natasha, bearing down on Steve, and this time the growl was impossible to misunderstand. Steve could smell it, too, the challenge, digging at his mind and demanding response. _Demanding_ submission, or violence and no, no, no, not Bucky’s friend. 

“You have the gall to scent mark other people, as well as Bucky?” Michael growled. “After you told him you wanted to bond with him?!”

“It’s not,” Steve managed, taking a step back, retreating because it was that or give in to the instinct to destroy the little shit, “It’s not like that.”

“The hell it’s not! I can smell it! Hell, half the tower can probably smell it! Are you fucking them?”

“He’s not fucking any of us,” Bucky said, managing to sound disappointed even as he was attempting to calm Michael. Poorly, since the Alpha just growled again.

“Us, Bucky? The fuck do you mean by _us_ , just how many Omegas are you leading round, _Captain_?” Steve didn’t think anyone had ever spat his title with the same amount of vitriol.

“I wouldn’t,” Steve said, backing up again.

“Michael,” Natasha said, trying to slip back between the Alpha and Steve, “we can all explain this. It’s really rather rational…”

“Rational?!” Michael shouted. “There’s nothing _rational_ about demanding bonds, to sit by while his Alpha fucks some redhead, about forcing someone who’s been through what Bucky has to, submit to more abuse…”

Steve couldn’t bear the accusation, not from another Alpha. Not from this little shit, who was so much...better than he was. He _couldn’t_. He _wouldn’t_. He had never meant to. The growl ripped from him, loud enough to echo from the windows, eyes flashing as his own pheromones filled the apartment. Instead of backing down, as he _should_ before Steve’s strength, Michael growled back.

Natasha was between them, then. Shoving Michael backwards. A hand clamped down on Steve’s shoulder, _really_ clamping down, stronger than any human hand would be able to. Steve knew who it was even as the hand started pulling him back, away from the other Alpha.

Bucky.

The Omega was tense, his jaw set as he yanked Steve back. His eyes were flicking from Steve to the rest of the room and back. Steve grabbed the wrist of the metal hand by instinct, not intending to fight the hold, and the metal fingers dug in harder, making Steve wince. He wasn’t getting out of the hold without a fight.

A fight with Bucky.

No, no, he didn’t want to fight Bucky. Steve didn’t want to fight _Michael_ , he was just so damned angry, and it wasn’t true. It wasn’t. He hadn’t abused Bucky, he wasn’t screwing around on him, the other Alpha just didn’t understand. A misunderstanding, it was all just a misunderstanding.

One that was about to lead to blows.

“Get him out of here,” Bucky snapped at Natasha.

“No,” Steve said quickly, tightening his hand on Bucky’s wrist so the plates recalibrated but held, unyielding under his grip. “I…”

It was nearly painful to do it, but Steve forced his chin up, baring his throat to the smaller Alpha. Submitting, giving in, because he was Bucky’s friend. Because it was a misunderstanding. Because Bucky had chosen him, from the moment Steve walked through the door.

Michael’s pale blue eyes flicked down to Steve’s throat, making shivers of unease crawl up Steve’s spine, and his growl cut out in the middle. There was a confused silence filling the room after that. Nobody moved, scared to break the moment, lest the two Alphas be back at each other’s throats.

“Steve?” Natasha asked, her palms still on Michael’s chest, looking over her shoulder at him.

“He doesn’t understand,” Steve said weakly, knowing she was fearing his rejection with this surrender. 

“I think we should all just take a step back,” Clint said calmly, emitting calming Beta pheromones as fast as he could produce them. Not they they were doing much beneath the onslaught of both Steve’s and Michael’s challenge.

Steve looked at Bucky, desperate to see his reaction, and found the Omega relaxing cautiously, his eyes still flicking between Steve and the others in the room. He was easing the grip of his metal hand on Steve’s arm, almost, but not quite letting Steve free. His face was still tense, still… unhappy, but no longer set into that hard, determined countenance as before.

Movement caught Steve’s attention and he turned his head to see Michael moving further away, closer to the windows, and turning sideways to Steve, pointedly staring out the window. Steve was sure his attention was still very firmly on Steve, just like Steve’s was on him. He was projecting disinterest though, curbing his body language to stop a resurgence of aggression.

“I’ll go,” Steve said quietly and the words hurt as much as submitting had, but he knew that’s what he had to do. “Clint?”

Because he was as smart, as quick, and as understanding as Natasha, Clint was quickly at Steve’s side. Lowering his head, he breathed deep of the archer’s pheromones and almost felt like himself since the moment he’d gotten the damn phone call. Carefully, he shook himself free of Bucky’s grip.

“I need a drink,” Michael announced to no one in particular.

“Your liver is not going to appreciate it,” Bucky threw over his shoulder as he turned to keep track of Steve as Clint lead him toward the door. “Where are you going?”

“Bruce,” Steve said simply, “Going to go spend some time with Bruce.”

\----

Bruce hadn’t argued when Steve came to him and asked for guidance through meditation. Not that Steve thought he would, as he never had before. Steve suspected that was because Steve only came to Bruce when his emotions were unraveling. Those times he needed peace, before he broke down, or tore something apart, because attacking a punching bag - and his hands - to smithereens was enough.

This was a little different, the goal to keep his emotions in check. Less for himself, more so he could stop bothering Bucky. Stop upsetting him with the feelings he couldn’t control. If Steve felt nothing, Bucky would feel nothing from him.

Steve was so deep into the meditation, he only noticed that Bucky was near when the door opened and the Omega walked in. It was the tight grace of Bucky’s movements that caught his attention, pulling Bruce and him out of their respective trances. It was a bit like waking up from a deep sleep, slowing coming back to himself, as he watched Bucky carefully circle them silently, dark eyes focused on Steve.

Steve looked up at the clock and saw it wasn’t even half an hour since they’d started.

“Bucky?” Steve asked, uncurling from his position as he was starting to get stiff.

“Everything okay?” Bucky sounded wary. Wary of Steve? The thought he could lose his Omega’s trust because of what happened in that room… 

“Yeah,” Steve answered, motioning to Bruce who was standing, stretching slowly, “Bruce was helping me meditate. So I didn’t bother you while… Is your friend gone?”

It was easier, Steve had realized, to think of Michael as Bucky’s friend and nothing else.

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “We liquored him up, explained some things, and sent him home with Natasha,”

“Natasha?” Bruce repeated. “Nevermind. None of my business. Steve, anytime, all right?”

“She offered,” Bucky said with a shrug.

Steve smiled at the Beta.

“Thanks, Bruce.”

“Bucky,” the doctor said as he headed from the meditation room.

Slowly, Steve stood as well, watching Bucky as carefully as he was being watched, but letting the Omega circle him.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Bucky tilted his head.

“Michael is not a threat, you know that just as well as I do.” Bucky said just as quietly, his metal hand flexing, the small plates catching the light.

Steve couldn’t help the way his lips pulled up in a sneer.

“There are many kinds of threats. Michael is definitely one of them. He’s…” Steve’s hands fluttered in the air between them. “Better for you. Than I am.” The words were hard to say, but Steve knew they needed to be said. So many things had to be said between them, since they didn’t just understand them. “He understands you. I… My pack - Tony, Natasha - does it bother you? You know _they’re_ not threats, don’t you?”

Bucky frowned at him, but it was thoughtful.

“I don’t like you paying them so much attention, touching them,” Bucky confessed, “but they are your pack, so I deal with it.”

Taking a deep breath, Steve nodded.

“That’s why I came here. I need…to learn how to do that. Maybe if we were bonded, or if I was more certain about us, it would be different, but… It’s not, but I’m trying, Bucky. Honest. Michael’s… He’s good for you.”

Bucky shook his head.

“I don’t want him,” Bucky’s voice was clear and sure, no hesitation at all. He was speaking the truth, but Steve had known that. It was just a different matter believing it. “I want you.”

“I know,” Steve said earnestly, stepping toward Bucky for the first time.

“Do you?” Bucky asked, his voice rapidly dropping registers. A shiver traveled down Steve’s back at the sound. “Do you really?“ Bucky started walking, no _prowling_ , in his direction. “Or do you need me to remind you?”

Steve almost said no, but, “Reminding might be nice.”

Bucky was close enough now that Steve could smell nothing but him.

“Reminder number one,” Bucky rumbled in that low, gravely voice that made Steve’s mind fall into the gutter. He moved them, sharp and fast, and Steve was falling, his legs knocked from under him. Before he even hit the mats, Bucky was on him, straddling his hips, his ass pressed tight to Steve’s groin, knees clenching almost painfully tight on his hips. “Nobody tells me what I want.”

Steve gasped, hands coming to rest loosely over Bucky’s hips.

“Did I tell you what you want?” Steve asked, his voice high and breathless and not at all like him.

The air Bucky blew through his nose was frustrated.

“You are, when you look at him and say he’s better. I chose you. Not him, not anyone else.”

Steve was certain the last time his heart had beat this hard and fast was when he was still small and in Basic. 

“I have trouble going from knowing that, to believing it. I’m…trying, Bucky. This is kind of my first rodeo.”

Bucky straightened up, fearlessly putting even more weight on Steve’s hips. He tilted his head, long, loose hair falling to the side. The position, the pose, didn’t help Steve’s heart any.

“I forget that, sometimes,” Bucky admitted. 

Licking his lips, Steve gently squeezed Bucky’s hips.

“Even if you don’t want him,” he said quietly, “He’s good for you, and I fucked it up. I’m sorry for that.”

Bucky shrugged.

“He’ll deal. I mean, his liver might not last long, but he’ll deal.”

“ _You_ shouldn’t have to. I…” Steve’s words left him on a whine, “I made you stop smiling.”

“My smiling matters to you?”

Steve nodded emphatically. The quirk at Bucky’s lips suggested he was repressing one at the response.

“I’ll smile for you, if you’ll kiss me.”

Grinning, Steve took the hint. Shoving his hips off the ground, he toppled them sideways, leaning up as he did, and wrapped his arms about Bucky’s back. Bucky went with the throw, smooth as smoke, his body giving under Steve’s hands like the sweetest of sins. They landed with Steve between his Omega’s legs, one arm supporting his shoulders, the other the back of his head. Bucky was pliant beneath him, shifting his knees so Steve fit better between them. It was more than intimate, because Steve knew how vulnerable Bucky was, and he knew Bucky knew as well. Bucky was allowing this, allowing Steve close, allowing him leverage and the position of power. It was the smoothest, most stunning submission Bucky could ever offer to him.

Closing the distance between them was as easy as breathing. Steve’s lips found Bucky’s, his eyes falling shut as he tasted his Omega, truly tasting him for the first time since they’d bonded. It was, if anything, better than before. Bucky was sweet, perfect, his mouth hot, his hands clutching Steve to him. In moments, all Steve could think of was that body against him, that mouth against his, his heat, his smell.

Panting, he jerked away and to his feet.

True to his word, Bucky smiled at him from the floor, slow and easy and sinful.

“Trouble keeping your hands off me?” he asked, but for once Steve could see the vulnerability behind the question.

Holding out his hand to help Bucky up, he admitted sincerely, “More than you’ll ever know.”

Bucky stayed on the floor and groaned softly as he stretched his body in a long attractive arch. Then he took Steve’s hand and let him haul him to his feet

“I’m keeping the picture,” Bucky said with a wicked, delightful smirk. “Just so you know.”

Steve just groaned and rolled his eyes.

“Please, don’t hang it in your bedroom?” He made a face. “Or the living room.”

“I can give you one of those rooms,” Bucky answered, “So you will have to choose which one you hate more,”

Groaning again, Steve scrubbed his head over his face, half-wrapping his arm about his head.

“I hate the living room more,” he grumbled. “The thought of people looking at it…” Again, he made a face to convey just how much he enjoyed _that_ idea.

“At least you know now,” Bucky said with a dark smirk.

Perking up, Steve dropped his arm and looked at Bucky curiously.

“Know what?”

“What it’s like to smell all those other Omegas as if they’d just rolled out of your bed.”

Steve took two steps forward, into Bucky’s space, wrapping his fingers around the Omega’s metal wrist. It was his favorite way to hold onto Bucky, the only way he was _sure_ he’d never hurt him. Bucky only looked up at him, trusting with his lack of a reaction.

“You’re the only one that’s ever been in my bed,” Steve promised. “The only one who ever will be, I hope.”

Bucky nodded.

“Let’s keep it that way.”

“You’ll know soon,” Steve added quietly, “The bond fades soon, and you’ll know I still… That this, wanting you, has nothing to do with that.”

“That’s why you want to go slow?” Bucky asked. “To let the bond fade?”

Steve smiled, nodding once.

“I told you I need to be sure. I want you to be sure, too.”

“I said I don’t change my mind.”

The smile on his face turned wry.

“I know,” Steve said, “ I just gotta believe it.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea why AO3 is suddenly assigning the chapter to me, it was written by cleo4u2 and me, as all the previous ones.

The wooden frame for his next piece wasn’t coming along quite as Michael wanted. The edges were too jagged, but he was trying to smooth them out. He was sculpting. He was sculpting, goddamn it.

No, he was hacking at that defenseless piece of wood so hard it would soon be completely useless. Instead of dropping his tools, he took a breath and tried again. The next blow of the hammer landed halfway on his thumb instead of on the chisel. Michael yelled, dropping everything, and narrowly avoiding broken bones as the hammer slammed into the floor half an inch from his big toe. He continued yelling, wordlessly, as he stuck his pulsing, aching thumb into his mouth as if that would stop the pain.

Everything was going to shit, he realized, glaring at his work. The frame was useless, _he_ was useless, and he was feeling drained from all the booze he’d drunk the night before. Alone, again, because Bucky’s friend Natasha had given him a frosty look when he suggested she stay. For dinner, he’d promised, but those green eyes hadn’t believed a word. His mother still kept wringing her hands at him, but he had this urge to feed any Omega he met. Mostly, he just liked taking care of Omegas, almost as much as he adored needling Alphas. Feeding them wasn’t a bad tactic, either. Once a person was stuffed to the gills with good food, it was unlikely they’d get angry with him. 

Really, he would have liked the company, would have liked an Omega for company specifically, for once having had enough of Alphas, but Natasha had refused. A perfectly terrible ending to the whole perfectly terrible evening. He was so proud of that painting, too. He felt as though he had really gotten Bucky in it, his essence, that wicked edge of danger that contrasted with the surprising potential for vulnerability. It had been a while since he had found a subject intriguing enough to paint, and he had been eager to show the result to his subject. Admittedly, he was also curious as hell to see how he lived, what kind of place his Alpha had set up.

When he had called Bucky to tell him about the picture, Michael hadn’t expected to be directed to Stark Tower. It had been surprising, to say the least, that Bucky had ended up there. Meeting Steve Rogers, Captain fucking America himself, had been even more so. He was Bucky’s “Hero”, the Alpha that the Omega was so hung up on, and he was hot, Michael would give him that. What no one had said, no one in the media, or even online, was that he had a _pack_. An honest to god _pack_. In today's times, in civilized society, with a damned superhero. _Pack_.

Opposing instincts warred inside Michael even now. One told him to draw Bucky away from the obvious danger the situation posed for someone as…vulnerable as him. On the other, he did think the man knew how to make decisions for himself. The conflicting desires left Michael feeling jittery and nervous, afraid he would lose the tentative but stunningly easy friendship he was developing with the Omega. Afraid he wouldn’t be able to feed him any more, talk to him, see him laugh.

With a sigh, Michael carded his hands through his hair before he stopped himself, remembering how much dust and wood debris he had on his fingers. Angry and defeated, he sat down where he stood, cross-legged on the floor.

“Mom always said not to feed strays,” he sighed, digging into his back pocket for the phone.

Since his right thumb was still throbbing with pain, he had to fumble the lockscreen left-handed before he could scroll to SexOnTheHoof contact. What would be the worst that would happen? Bucky not answering? Then Michael would go and drink himself stupid again. On second thought, that would probably happen if Bucky _did_ pick up.

He pressed _call_ and stood, going in search of some alcohol.

“Can you grow back a liver?” Michael asked in full seriousness the moment he heard the line connect.

“Uh,” Bucky sounded confused, but he often sounded that way, “I don’t remember ever trying but…maybe?”

“Good,” Michael continued just as seriously, “because I might need one.”

There was a huff of quiet laughter through the speaker.

“I’m not a doctor, but I don’t think livers are so easily exchangeable,” Bucky said, sounding amused and not at all angry. That was good, Michael had been worried there would be anger. After he’d left, after he’d made Captain fucking America surrender a challenge… Anger seemed an appropriate response.

“Well, _I_ didn’t think people could be frozen for seventy years, then unfrozen to be perfectly healthy and alive too, so clearly our combined knowledge is worth fuck-all,” Michael complained, studying the bottle of wine he had located in the cupboard. The problem was his one hand was taken up by the phone, his other had a thumb that was quickly trying to swell to double its normal size. It was…going to be a problem. A very serious logistics problem.

Michael considered his teeth.

“They froze someone for seventy years?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah,” Michael said breezily, “your Hero. You know, the plane crash, the ice, the defrosting. Ringing any bells? You _are_ seeing the guy.”

“Uh,” Bucky said, and Michael knew he really _did_ need the alcohol now, “I know they say he died?”

“Bucky, when you say you’re seeing the guy, what do you actually mean? If it’s not sex, which you said it wasn’t, and you don’t know the guy’s most important life events… What is it?”

“We date,” Bucky said immediately. 

There was something odd about the way he said the word _date_ , as if it was alien and barely scraped out of his throat.

“And what do you talk about?” Michael said, nearly biting his tongue off to keep the real question inside, how the hell Bucky’d not known Captain America had been frozen for seven decades.

“We talk,” Bucky said defensively, “but the past is kind of off limits.”

Michael considered the bottle again. He could maybe have a try at it with the chisel?

“I repeat my question, what do you talk _about_?”

“I can’t…tell you all of it, but movies, and I taught him how to dance, and he cooks, too… He teaches me things, just…not the past.”

“His rule, or yours?” 

“Mine,” Bucky admitted.

Michael decided against the chisel.

“I could see why the past could be off limits,” Michael conceded, “but you do know it will come back to bite you in the ass, right? The things you don’t talk about always do.”

There was a huff on the other side.

“I’ll deal with it when it comes up. Right now is hard enough.”

Michael stared sadly at the bottle of wine. Why didn’t he buy something with a twist-off cap? 

“Listen. About the…thing, with your Hero,” Michael started hesitantly.

Now Bucky sounded testy, growling at him, “You mean that suicide attempt of yours?” 

“It wasn’t that bad,” Michael winced, just staring at the unopened bottle now.

“It was,” Bucky insisted mercilessly. “He could’ve had you with a side of veal without breaking a sweat. You got lucky, Michael.”

“No,” Michael said, keeping any flippancy from his tone, “he cares about you too much for that.”

“Why do you say that?” Bucky asked, his tone curious, almost eager.

“Obvious, isn’t it?” Michael said gently, knowing it wasn’t to Bucky, but also knowing the man didn’t want to be treated differently for it. “He didn’t back down from that challenge because he thought he was wrong. He didn’t leave because he surrendered, or because he suddenly trusted me around you.”

“Why’d he leave?” Bucky asked, not because he didn’t know what Michael thought, but because he just needed to hear it from an outside source.

“Because he loves you. Loves you enough to act against his basest, most primal urges. He submitted to me, an Alpha obviously weaker than him, just so he wouldn’t hurt somebody you cared about.”

There was silence on the line for a long time after that. Bucky was too controlled to let Michael hear in even his breathing, how the words affected him, but he was still on the line. Letting Bucky have his silence, Michael hit speaker, set the phone down, and finally had both hands to work a corkscrew. 

The bottle of wine was open, a glass poured, before Bucky spoke again.

“I’m glad I met you,” he confessed quietly.

Now it was Michael’s turn to fall silent, staring at the nearest window sightlessly.

“I’m glad I met you, too,” Michael said finally, his throat tight.

“You’re a great translator,” Bucky praised him, sounding honestly grateful, but also teasing.

“Thank you,” Michael swallowed a large gulp of wine, “I will continue to be one, provided I am being paid in replacement-livers.”

Bucky snorted.

“Why the fascination with human organs?”

“Because you drive me to _drink_ ,” Michael said seriously, finishing his glass and pouring another.

“Nah, you just like me so much you don’t know what to do with yourself,” Bucky said offhandedly, and Michael was struck with the knowledge that he was right, it was true, it was exactly how he felt about the Omega.

“I want to _feed_ you,” Michael admitted helplessly, putting a lot of emphasis on the word feed. While he still thought that sex with Bucky would be amazing, he actually did want to feed the guy more than ever. More than he wanted to fuck him. 

Michael sank onto the floor and then onto his back, hitting his head on the tile gently.

“Are you happy?” he asked, “In your tower with your Hero?”

“You’re asking hard questions,” Bucky said quietly.

“Let me put it in simpler terms,” Michael offered, sensing he was losing Bucky. “Would you rather be anywhere else right now?”

“No,” the answer came quick and sharp, sure of himself, of what he was feeling.

Michael sighed. There would be no crusade to pull Bucky from the pack, then. Not if Stark Tower and Captain America’s pack was where he wanted to be.

“You owe me another pose,” Michael said idly, draining his glass again and definitely feeling a buzz.

“What? Why?” Bucky sounded adorably outraged.

“You didn’t tell me, or even _imply_ , you’re a super-soldier, one with a wicked metal arm to boot. I also demand an explanation of how you managed to hide a whole arm made of _metal_ from me the last time we saw each other.”

“What does that have to do with me posing again?” And here it was, a note of whining entering his voice. 

Michael felt powerful and vindicated.

“I am an artist. I portray reality through my eyes. You did not show me reality, therefore, you have to pose for me again. This time with the metal arm visible. Ask your Hero, he’ll understand.”

“No,” Bucky said, remarkably sure of himself, “he will not,”

“Sucks to be you then,” Michael said cheerfully.

\----

It had taken Tony two days, two days of non-stop round the clock work, but he’d done it. No more worries about knives and claws slicing through Steve and Natasha’s suits. Nothing was bullet- or stab- _proof_ , but the tweaking he’d done to the Kevlar formula would make it just light enough to satisfy both Steve and Natasha’s needs. It was still DuPont’s formula so he couldn’t market it, but now it was more flexible. Natasha wouldn’t yell at him for trying to slow her reaction times and Steve wouldn’t complain about over-exertion. 

Damned acrobatic super-spy-soldiers. Though if they started in on the chafing complaint again, he’d just kill them both and be done with it. They never appreciated the work he did for them.

“Sir,” JARVIS said, “you’re talking to yourself again. If I may, perhaps it’s time you had some company.”

“Company, yes,” Tony agreed, “Brilliant idea, JARVIS. Though of course it’s because all your ideas are really just my ideas. Does Sergeant Sneaky Boots still fear and despise you?”

If an artificial intelligence could program itself to sigh, Tony thought JARVIS would.

“I am afraid so, sir.”

“I’ll have to fix that. Later,” Tony added because JARVIS was usually right about these things. “Common room, JARVIS. Let's see if any of my super-spy-soldiers are awake.”

“It’s three in the afternoon, sir.”

“Is it really?” Tony asked, stepping into the elevator. His body felt heavy and jittery at the same time, the sure signs of overwork too much caffeine. “I thought it’d be more like three in the morning. These things usually finish in the wee hours of the day. Why is that?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know, sir,” JARVIS said as the doors slid shut.

“That’s unhelpful,” Tony pointed out.

JARVIS definitely would have sighed then. Perhaps Tony should program him to sigh. Would that be useful?

“Shall I attempt a hypothesis?” JARVIS asked.

“No, no,” Tony waved a hand through the air, “That’s fine. Remind me to teach you how to sigh, JARVIS.”

“If you insist, sir.”

The elevator swooshed open - what an interesting word, swoosh - and Tony sauntered in. Luckily, he wouldn’t have to look far to find people as the living room was occupied. Steve sat in the middle of the couch, a book propped in one hand, a glass of something orange - probably orange juice, but Tony was a scientist and he wouldn’t just _assume_ \- on the coffee table before him.

“Amat victoria curam,” Tony declared, thrusting his fist high.

Steve raised his head from the book and looked at Tony, which was all Tony really wanted to happen. It wasn’t as though Steve spoke Latin.

“What? You’re speaking in tongues again,” Steve said, but he was smiling already, following Tony’s shambling steps with his eyes.

“I made you a new suit,” Tony said, walking to the edge of the couch, flopping onto it and slumping against Steve’s side. 

“And that was cause for you to speak Latin at me?” Steve asked, amused and at the same time shifting to accommodate Tony’s weight, lifting his arm to accommodate Tony along his side

“Quidquid Latine dictum sit, altum videtur,” Tony replied around a yawn.

“You don’t say,” Steve said sarcastically, “I’ll be sure to remember that.” 

“It means everything said in Latin sounds profound. Suit’s great. Made one for Spider Queen, too. You should try it, but don’t blame me for chafing because it’ll stop hellhound claws and that matters more.”

Steve snorted, re-adjusted his book in his hand, and tucked Tony more comfortably against his side.

“Go to sleep,” Steve commanded.

“JARVIS says I need people time.”

“Sleep. We’ll hold an impromptu movie night when you wake up.”

“Aww, it’s like you know me or something,’ Tony said, trying for sarcastic even as his eyes slid closed. He probably missed the mark, but he was eighty percent sure no one else was around to care if it had been a little too close to the mushy side. 

Giving off his normal furnace heat, and surprisingly comfortable despite all that steel-corded muscle, Steve didn’t answer. Likely, he knew if he did Tony would keep talking and not go to sleep. Smart man, their Cap. He was almost as great as Pepper, really. Even smelled nice, a little like soap and…

Tony sat up with a jerk, shoving Steve away from him.

“You’re fucking Barnes!” he accused.

Steve caught himself, though he almost slid off the couch in surprise.

“What? I am not.”

“Are too,” Tony retorted, the argument of a five year old, but it was Steve so he had to keep it simple. “You smell like him. It’s,” he waved his hands vaguely, “all over you.”

The look Steve gave him made Tony want to curl up in a corner.

“If I was fucking him, it’d be none of your business, Tony.”

“None of my business?” Tony repeated, burying the hurt that sentence had caused as soon as he’d felt it. “Of course it’s my business. You jump off things when you’re miserable and me or Sam has to catch you.”

That was a really stupid argument, Tony decided.

“You jump off of one goddamned building...” Steve complained grumpily, marking his page and setting his book down.

“And when you’re unhappy, we’re all unhappy.”

Steve sighed.

“I’m _happy_ , Tony.”

Tony wasn’t about to buy that for a second. Well, okay, maybe just the one.

“Now, maybe,” he conceded, “but neither of you is capable of a mature, healthy, relationship with the amount of emotional and psychological issues you’re both still attempting to recover from.”

The hardness in Steve’s eyes softened.

“You’re seeing your therapist again,” he said quietly, “Because of the Three Sisters?”

“Don’t you turn this back on me,” Tony huffed. “We are talking about you, Cap, and your… Your…something that means you make terrible choices because you’re always a self-sacrificing idiot.”

Steve’s gaze hardened again.

“Sam is looking out for me,” he said flatly. “ _I’m_ looking out for me, and so is Natasha, and we’re not fucking, Tony. We’re…dating. Trying to build a relationship.”

“A relationship,” Tony repeated skeptically. “With the Terminator?”

“He is not a Terminator,” Steve said sharply, “Look, we’re going to try to make this work whether you like it or not, so I need you to get on board. Frankly, I could use your help.”

That was a ploy if Tony had ever heard one, but it was one he was still going to fall for. Damn Steve and his always going for the tactical advantage.

“Help, how?” Tony asked warily.

“There’s only one guy looking out for Bucky, and he doesn’t live here. He lives in Jersey, so if…you could look out for him? You’re an Omega, you’re as stubborn and strong-willed as he is, you’ll understand what he’s going through better than anyone, and if I’m being a dick… I’d like someone to tell me.”

“Me? Understand the Murder-About-to-Happen?”

“Tony,” Steve said sharply.

Sighing, Tony slumped against the back of the couch.

“Why do you think you even need help with that, Captain Perfect?”

Steve rolled his eyes.

“I’ve already hurt him once and he’s…” Whatever Bucky was, Steve didn’t elaborate. “I need to look out for myself. If I’m doing that, it’s a _lot_ harder to look out for him, too.”

Rubbing his eyes and the bridge of his nose, Tony couldn’t believe he was about to agree to this.

But it was Steve, and he wanted _Tony’s_ help.

“Okay.”

When he opened his eyes again, Steve was giving him his perfect sunshine smile.

“Stop it,” Tony grumbled, “You’re sickeningly happy.”

“Come here,” Steve insisted, holding out his arm again, “You still need to sleep.”

Tony didn’t have to be told twice. Sliding back into Steve’s space, he snuggled into the super-soldier's side. Once again, Steve put his arm around him, picked up his book, and relaxed. Like they’d never had a heart-to-heart about his Manchurian Candidate sweetheart. Tony was definitely going to have to replay this conversation to make sure he hadn’t hallucinated the entire thing due to sleep deprivation.

Though Barnes’ scent really was all over Steve, Tony was exhausted enough he was easily falling back into that place between sleep and awareness. Then the elevator swooshed open - yeah, he liked that word - and he cracked open an eye to find Barnes staring at them. Steve was slowly stiffening beneath Tony, as he wasn’t sure if he should bolt. As if he thought cuddling with Tony wasn’t allowed and _that_ was goddamned unacceptable. Tony was not losing his super-soldier pillow-heater.

“Other side is free, Grumpy Cat,” Tony mumbled sleepily.

Barnes looked at Tony, his grey eyes flat and somewhat incredulous. He circled the couch as if it were on fire, looking Steve over, then looking back to Tony. Not stopping, he circled again and it was clear he wasn't going to snuggle up to Steve. Tony saw Steve’s face fall a little, and that was just too much. Looking to Barnes, he could see that the Omega had seen the hope drain away as well. At least, if Tony was awake enough to read the way he hunched his shoulders correctly.

Barnes slowed, undecided, before he walked up to the edge of the couch and sat there, back to the armrest, body tilted towards them. To keep them in his sights. He remained wary, and Tony was still not sleeping.

“Bucky?” Steve prompted, but the other Omega just shook his head. 

Steve’s lips pressed into a hard line as he tried to hide his disappointment.

“Come on, Buckitty,” Tony grumbled, “You’re giving Steve Cap Face. I don’t bite and you’ll make Cap’s day.”

Barnes sighed and toed off his shoes before pulling his legs onto the couch and slowly, carefully stretched his legs until his toes touched Steve’s thigh. Then he pushed harder, forcing his toes beneath the firm muscle. If the way Steve’s face broke into a grin was any indication, this really was making his day. The perfect sunshine smile was back.

“You’re terrible at cuddling,” Tony said critically, “I’ll have to teach you. When I can move,” he conceded as his eyes drooped, “I made a thing. It took a while. I should make you a thing, too. Right, Capsicle?”

“Yes, Tony,” Steve said seriously.

“‘Yes, Tony,’ he says,” Tony muttered. “I like that; more of that.”

Distantly, he heard Steve say something else, but it was lost to him. It wouldn't matter much anyway. Steve was happy, he had a new suit to keep him safe, so did Natasha, and soon Cap’s squeeze would have one, too. Pepper was happy with him, he hadn’t forgotten any major anniversaries or birthdays all year, and no one had tried to conquer the world in a whole five weeks. There was nothing to worry about, even if he had just become the protector to the world’s most vicious hedgehog.

“I am not a hedgehog,” Barnes insisted in his dream. At least, Tony thought it was a dream.

Either way…

“Prove it,” Tony muttered.

“Bucky, no...” Steve was saying and Tony smiled. It was a very good dream.

\----

It was Clint’s shift for Cap Babysitting Duty, or CBAD as he privately thought of it. The watch they not-so-subtly kept on Steve when either Tony or Natasha was worried about the guy. Why they were worried about him with Bucky around, Clint wasn’t completely sure. He thought maybe it had something to do with Bucky being unstable, or Steve being a sad golden retriever when he wasn’t around, but they seemed to be getting on well enough. Well enough that Clint wasn’t being at all subtle about following Steve down to the lobby.

If Steve noticed, he didn’t comment, which was also par for the course. For an Alpha, he put up with a lot of shit without getting mad. Like crazy possessive Omegas, and brainwashed ex-assassins. That particular club was now up to three members and Clint fervently hoped they wouldn’t find any more.

When Clint realized Steve was stalking the lobby, prowling from side to side because he was waiting for Barnes, he pulled out his phone.

 **CeilingHawk** : You late for the prom, Menace? Gonna turn into a pumpkin? 

**CeilingMenace** : What the hell?

Instead of answering, Clint took a short video of Steve stalking past security, eyes on the revolving glass door. It was particularly good, since Steve was scaring the shit out of the other Alphas in the vicinity and they couldn’t take their eyes off him. Not that Steve had noticed, yet. At least, Clint assumed he hadn’t noticed. Clint couldn’t predict with certainty when Steve was being a shit and when he was oblivious.

 **CeilingMenace** : Shit

 **CeilingHawk** : I don’t think they’ve shit themselves yet, but they’re getting there. Where are you? Have you still not given Steve your phone number?

 **CeilingMenace** : he didn’t ask.

 **CeilingHawk** : Give it to him anyway

Clint looked at the obvious signs of stress building up in Steve, the way he exuded aggression and looked ready to blow any second. Shaking his head, he typed in a repeat of his question because, okay, maybe they really did need a CBAD.

 **CeilingHawk** : Where are you?

 **CeilingMenace** : On my way back

Clint growled a little at the answer. The Omega kept his secrets closer to his chest than Natasha, and he hadn’t thought that possible. In revenge, he sent another video of Steve’s stalking, now past the elevators where several military suits dodged out of his way.

 **CeilingMenace** : Keep him out of trouble ETA 15 min.

 **CeilingHawk** : how close are you to get anywhere in 15 minutes?

 **CeilingMenace** : Not close. Taking alliterative route.

Clint read the text twice before he understood that it could be autocorrect thing?

When Steve purposely avoided a woman in a business suit carrying a briefcase, Clint knew he was scaring the shit out of the others on purpose.

 **CeilingHawk** : he’s doing it on purpose. what’d you do, menace?

There was nothing for a good five minutes before Clint’s phone flashed with another message. He stayed where he was, standing atop one of the lobby sculptures, watching Steve pace. It was amusing, now that he knew Steve was doing it on purpose, bothering the people who either were a bother themselves.

 **CeilingMenace** : the bond is gone

“Aw, Menace, no,” Clint muttered, understanding at once why Steve was acting like a caged tiger. The bond had broken and he’d not seen his Omega since. They were lucky Steve hadn’t felt compelled to take his search outside the tower.

 **CeilingHawk** : send him your phone number

 **CeilingMenace** : Can’t

 **CeilingHawk** : why the hell not?

 **CeilingMenace** : busy using speech to text now

Clint stared. He had a sudden, irresistible urge to beat his head against a wall. Repeatedly. Those two would kill him. Kill him dead. And how was it that Bucky could use speech to text while Clint only got a string of illegible words whenever he tried? Bucky was _ancient_. Old people weren’t supposed to understand tech.

 **CeilingHawk** : Okay, I’m just putting this out here, but leaving the day the bond fades was not your best move

 **CeilingMenace** : Expected him to run for armor

Clint mouthed the words run for armor to himself for a moment. A long moment.

 **CeilingMenace** : Longer. Speech to text is great but it doesn’t get it all right. Here

Even as he finished reading the sentence, someone slammed into the glass doors hard enough the sound reverberated through the lobby. Clint looked up to see Bucky, windswept and out of breath, hurrying toward Steve. Steve, who had frozen, staring at him like he might pounce at any moment as he scented the air. Like he wasn’t sure he could trust his eyes to tell him Bucky was there.

Clint started counting down in his head. Three, two, one and Steve _did_ pounce, forcing Bucky back towards the wall as he framed his hands around the Omega’s face. He leaned down and kissed him as if he would die if he had to wait a single second longer. Bucky windmilled his arms, both encased in layers of clothes: a red henley, a leather jacket, his hands covered by leather gloves, hiding the metal arm from sight completely. An undignified yelp left the Omega, but didn’t make any attempt to stop Steve, just let himself be forced against a wall and kissed within an inch of his life. 

Steve was growling, low and quiet, no more than a rumble, but so filled with desire it even made Clint hot under his collar. Bucky not only let himself be manhandled without any real protest, the moment his back his the wall he locked his arms around the Alpha, his left hand closing on Steve’s neck. It only made Steve’s growl deeper, the Alpha kissing him harder. As if the implied threat of the grip was making Steve hotter. They were kissing and clawing at each other, until suddenly Barnes shifted his grip and pushed Steve away.

If Bucky looked wrecked, windswept, and messy before, he looked destroyed now. His lips were red, swollen and wet. They stared at each other, both their eyes dark and chests heaving. Half the lobby was staring, though neither appeared to notice, or care.

“I couldn’t find you,” Steve said, as if that explained everything.

“I know. I’m here now.” 

There was a sweet, almost apologetic tone in his words. Clint hadn’t aware Bucky could sound so gentle.

“You were gone,” Steve still sounded plaintive, the anger banished now that Bucky was close. Now that the Alpha could see him, smell him. It was sickeningly romantic.

“I thought I would get back before you realised,” Bucky was looking around now, getting uncomfortable in the public space.

Steve noticed, catching Bucky’s hand and dragging him toward the elevator. Sighing, Clint sat down atop the lobby sculpture he had chosen as his vantage point and pulled out his phone again. He might be on CBAD, but he wasn’t going to watch what was about to happen. No one needed to see that but Steve.

\----

“If Jim were here, he’d already have it finished,” Tim told Gabe.

“If Jim were here,” Gabe retorted, “I wouldn’t be doing it.”

Ignoring that, because Jim had been gone for ten years now, Tim said, “Hurry up. It took us this long to get him to Skype call us. If we’re late, we might both be dead before he agrees again.”

“If you keep bothering me,” Gabe grumbled, “you’ll be dead before I get this finished.”

Before Tim could respond, the speakers on the laptop his grandson had bought him for Christmas the year before blared with sound. The now familiar bleeps and bloops of an incoming Skype conversation, though Tim had been reluctant to become familiar with the noise. 

“He’s calling us?” Tim asked with no little surprise, his gnarled hands hovering over the tiny keys.

“Looks like,” Gabe said, “unless someone else is using the user name he gave us.

Clicking the green ‘Accept’ button, Tim smiled as the dual video screens appeared. Theirs is two grizzled old men side by side in low-backed chairs superimposed in the lower left corner of the one that showed Steve. The man looked exactly as they’d seen him last, running after Red Skull’s plane. Tim had known it was true, that Steve had been frozen and defrosted, but seeing it like this was a whole new perspective.

“Cap!” Gabe crowed, “Looking good, for a man near one hundred.”

Steve’s easy smile grew tight.

“Gabe, Dum Dum; it’s good to see you both.”

“Come off it, Cap,” Tim said gruffly, “We know we look like shit, no need to beat around the bush. Came to terms with our mortality a few decades back.”

“You might have,” Steve said seriously, “but I haven’t.”

Goddamn it, it was eerie watching that young face they knew and remembered from their past. In a way, Tim grew used to thinking of his friends as old men. To see such a young face and know it was the man they served with seventy years ago was alway a mindbender.

“That why you didn’t call?” Gabe said shrewdly. “Didn’t write back?”

“Yes, and no,” Steve said, and he was as honest as ever. That’s what had made Tim want to follow him into death’s jaws. No matter what, he thought he could trust Steve to tell them what they were really up against, what the odds were, and then get them out again. He hadn’t trusted any commander like that before, only their squad’s NCO, who they had also managed to leave behind.

“Seeing Peggy…”

“Ah,” Tim said knowingly, “Alzheimer's and dementia are the worst of it. We’re mostly here, though. You should call.”

Steve smiled, finally.

“I’ll make a point of it.”

Tim glanced at Gabe, who nodded, and Tim did as well.

“Now that that’s settled, you know why we’re pushing you so hard.”

If Tim hadn’t known him so well, if his face hadn’t been exactly like Tim remembered, he would have missed the look of wariness that flickered through Steve’s eyes.

“The same reason I agreed to a face-to-face,” Steve said seriously, “He never agreed to let me tell you he was alive, never agreed to anyone knowing he hadn’t died, and he isn’t ready to face the people he left behind.”

“Now, listen here, Cap,” Tim said sternly, “James Barnes was our NCO before you came around. When they took him, they hadn’t come for _him_. They came for me and he fought them off and took my place. I’d be dead, not just then, but a dozen times before if it wasn’t for him.”

“He’s not… I don’t know what kind of man he was before,“ Steve admitted, his face tight. “I only know he’s…been through a lot. It’s left him angry. There’s a violence in him now, easy to provoke. He looks at people like they’re an alien breed that he doesn’t care to understand, or meet halfway. And pushing him to talk about his past? It usually ends up with an explosive confrontation.” Steve spoke slowly and he was pussyfooting around something, choosing his words with exaggerated care, which wasn’t like him at all.

“He was my sergeant,” Gabe said softly, “and I failed him. I don’t have all that much time left to say I’m sorry.”

“Neither of us does, Cap,” Tim pressed.

“I know,” Steve said and the pain on his face said more than either Tim, or Gabe, was willing to address, “but he’s not ready. He was a POW for seventy years, gentlemen. We’re doing everything we can for him, but he is _not ready_.”

Somewhere off camera, a door slammed against a wall and a voice hollered, “Steve! We come bearing gifts!”

The panic that appeared on Steve’s expression wasn’t one Tim had actually seen before. His hands reached for the laptop, but something crashed, clattered and boomed, making Steve jump. His hand froze, halfway covering the camera, while he stared at whatever, or whoever, was making such a damn racket.

“Aw, man,” came the stranger’s voice.

“Clint?!” Steve shouted, “What’d you just…?”

A head full of long hair poked about the hallway corner, right between Steve’s thumb and index finger.

“Everything okay, Cap?” Tim asked carefully, as the person shook the hair out of their face.

“Nothing’s broken…” the man started to say, and even with the long hair and the black shirt stretching over bulkier shoulders than Tim had ever seen on his sergeant, Bucky Barnes was clearly recognizable in the young man frozen halfway in the room. His grey eyes were wide, unguarded, and shocked as they flicked from Steve, to the laptop, and back to Steve again. He looked hunted, betrayed. His face was seemingly the same as Tim remembered it, but there was a hardness to his expressions that Tim didn’t remember, coldness that shocked him. 

“Sarge?” Tim and Gabe said at the same time, and holy fucking shit. “Jesus, it is you. Christ, Sarge, you look -“ The man’s face was quickly closing down, the eyes wide open in surprise were now narrowing into suspicious slits, and his jaw was visibly tightening. Tim could see the tension ratcheting up in his body. “ - doesn’t matter,” he interrupted himself as Gabe elbowed him. “Sarge,” he said louder, “we’re so glad you’re okay. That you didn’t die there and…and we’re…”

Tim’s voice broke and Gabe quickly picked up for him.

“We’re real sorry we left you in that place. If we’d known, we’d have gone back for you, Sarge.”

There was a screech of metal and Bucky jerked, the doorknob he was leaning on torn clear off by… Was that a metal hand? A metal arm? What had happened to his arm? Had Stark given him a new one? Could they even do that these days? Tim’s thoughts were scattering like panicked cattle, going every which way, without rhyme or reason.

The man growled then, low and dangerous, a terrible kind of sound that made both Tim and Gabe flinch. That kind of growl he’d only ever heard on an Alpha damn ready to kill and tear apart something. Not a sound one would ever hear in such normal setting.

“Bucky!” Steve shouted their NCO turned sharply and fled. There was no other way to describe how he turned tail and ran from the room. Steve took a step as if to follow, and then slumped back into the chair he’d been in when the call started. Tim winced, watching him rub both hands over his face.

“I see what you meant by him not being ready,” Gabe said slowly.

Steve nodded.

“Uh,” another head poked around the hallway’s corner, messy sandy blond sticking every which way, “I’m gonna go…?”

“Yeah, Clint,” Steve said tiredly.

When the door shut again, Tim asked, “He’s not doin’ too well, then.”

“He doesn’t talk much,” Steve answered, “so it’s hard to tell. The fact his first ten reactions are always violence is not helping matters. Some days are worse than others. This is now going to be one of the bad ones.”

Tim thought about apologizing, but decided against it. Maybe it was too soon, like Steve had said, but he and Gabe didn’t have all the time in the world. Some things needed to be said, whether or not they were responded to. This had been one of them. Bucky could do with it whatever he wanted, take all the time he needed to accept, or dismiss it. He had that luxury.

“He presented yet?” Tim asked instead.

“Omega,” Steve answered quietly. 

“Omega with that kind of growl? Holy…” Tim muttered thinking of the hair-raising sound.

“Uh-huh,” Gabe said meaningfully at the same time.

Tim didn’t understand until Steve turned red and lowered his hands to his lap.

“Oh!” he gasped, wheezing as laughter bubbled from his chest. “You and Sarge? Good lord, what a pair. I bet he manages you. He does, doesn’t he? God, he was good at that. Putting the stupid in its place.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve grumbled, taking the ribbing good naturedly, “He’s, um. I’m pretty attached.”

“Good,” Gabe said sincerely, “Then we know he’s in good hands.”

Tim, though he was still laughing, agreed.

“We’ll let you go chase your Omega down, then,” he said breathlessly. “And call sometime!”

“Soon,” Gabe said pointedly.

Steve rolled his eyes and saluted, before ending the call. The image went black, then resolved into the familiar blue and white Skype box. Tim stared at it, then sighed as Gabe patted his shoulder. 

“Kids’ll be all right,” Gabe promised.

“Kid better call,” Tim replied grumpily. “Come on, Kathy is hosting gin in the communal.”

“Gin,” Gabe huffed, “Why can’t we play rummy?”

“You cheat at rummy,” Tim growled.

“Oh yeah,” Gabe murmured, leading the way out of their shared room and into the hall.

Tim could only hope he was right. Sarge and Cap both deserved the best for all they’d given.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically it folks! There is one filthy, smuty epilogue coming up but this story can be considered as finished even now. We just thought that 200+k story with only the ONE smut scene is a sad thing so decided to up the hotness level by adding a very explicit description of the actual bonding process.
> 
> Oh, now I too have a tumblr (not only Cleo can be out there in the social media world!)  
> Come and visit us:
> 
> [xantissa](http://xantissa.tumblr.com)
> 
> [Cleo4u2](http://cleo4u2.tumblr.com)

Bucky stormed out of Steve’s apartment, almost bowling over Clint in his haste. He shot out onto the corridor and headed straight to the elevator before he realised there was no way in hell he could stand being in a small, closed room with the way he felt right then. There were… _things_ boiling in his chest, burning like bile in his throat, and he turned sharply, to the left, slamming the stairwell door open with his metal arm.

Thundering down the empty stairs, the sound echoed in his head as it thundered with his half-admitted thoughts. His heart was pounding in his chest, his hand clammy, and he itched in his own skin. He needed to _move_ , to feel in control of something. His own body, his reactions, but he couldn’t stop the rush of his blood, the pounding of his thoughts. His breath came short, harsh, and like he had been running for hours.

It took all the skill, all his practice, to still his mind and clear his thoughts long enough to reach the gym. He focused on his breathing, on the way his heart was beating, speeding up even as he fought to control it, it almost didn’t work even then. Thankfully, the journey to the gym didn’t take long and he headed straight for the reinforced punching bags. He didn't bother to wrap his human hand, just started punching and kicking the thing with everything he had.

The pain in his hands, the burn of his muscles, even that couldn’t stop his mind completely.

Bucky had _told_ Steve, told him he didn’t want to talk to the last of his old unit. He had told Steve they shouldn’t know about Bucky being alive, but the bastard had still outed that fact on national fucking TV. It had been all right, something he could ignore, so long as nothing came of it. As long as everybody kept their fucking mouths shut about it.

The things you don’t talk about come back to bite you, Michael had said.

When the door opened to the gym, Bucky already knew who it was. Steve, though the Alpha didn’t immediately approach, he hovered, watching, until Bucky’s metal arm shattered the punching bag.

“Bucky?” Steve said tentatively, and the rage, the itch, began under his skin again. “I’m sorry. It was supposed to be a private conversation. You weren’t supposed to be involved.”

Bucky whirled on him, but Steve didn’t flinch or back away.

“Do you know what I had to do to survive?” Bucky asked, bitter and angry, and willing to just spill all the vitriol he carried in his chest for once. “I hated. I hated the people that were doing all those things to me. I hated myself for being weak enough to be broken like that, reduced to nothing but an animal. I hated civilians, people who weren’t getting tortured, or raped, or made to do things so horrible they were afraid to ever remember them. I hated my own body for always betraying me, for being the weapon used against me. That is how I survived. On hatred alone. That was what got me going when I thought I couldn’t last one hour, one _moment_ , longer. You think I’m like you? All sad eyes and forgiveness?”

Standing frozen, eyes wide, Steve watched him, lips parted in surprise.  
“I am anger and I am hatred and those people there? You think I could just look them in their old, gnarled faces, at their pictures of happy families and listen to their apologies? All I could see, all I could _think_ , was that they were living happy lives, had families, were _happy_ while I was being turned into a monster!”

Steve moved forward, slowly, like he saw Bucky as an animal that might charge at any moment.

“And I hate that you made me feel this way again!”

“Bucky,” Steve said quietly, “you felt like this anyway. You just didn’t let yourself. But that’s okay,” he said quickly, seeing Bucky bare his teeth at him like he _was_ an animal, “It’s okay to feel like that. That they got everything you wanted. You’re allowed to feel that.”

“I will fucking feel what I want to feel!” Bucky all but roared at him, only getting more incensed with each second.

Steve still didn’t back away, didn’t run from him, or cower from his anger. From the threat Bucky knew he was. Like Steve had a faulty fear response, which would explain so damned much. He stared at the Alpha, almost dizzy with the anger boiling out of him, all the things he had never said because they were socially unacceptable, and he made a conscious, desperate effort not to turn that anger into an attack on Steve.

“You… I don't want to be made to do things! Anything, for any reason!” Somewhere, he had started wanting Steve to understand, to see what nobody else saw. “I don't care for reasons! I don't care for right or wrong! All I want is to do what I want, when I want, and nobody, not a single soul to have the power to stop me, even if it’s for my own so-called good. I don't want to hate the way I do, but if you push me, I swear to god, I will destroy everything in my sights!” 

Bucky could feel the way his face was flushed, the way sweat stood out on his neck, his muscles aching from how hard he was tensing. Steve crept closer still, careful, one foot in front of the other. Silent, blue eyes soft and calm, unafraid. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve said simply. Just that, nothing more. He finally stopped moving, standing still and quiet.

Bucky laughed, an edge of hysteria tinging the sound.

“I’m sorry,” Steve repeated. “I’m sorry I wasn't there for you before. I am now. If you need me.”

He was speaking so softly that Bucky had to stop his own laughing to hear him. And he just stood there, so close Bucky could smell him, but not trying to touch him. Yet.

“If you try to touch me now, I will maim you,” Bucky swore, half-bewildered, half-angry.

“I won’t,” Steve assured, unruffled by the threat, “but if you want to touch me, I’m here.”

Bucky huffed, stared, so taken aback, half his anger was knocked out of him by sheer confusion. If Steve noticed, he didn’t show it. Slowly, he sat down, right where he stood, on the floor. He folded his legs loosely in front of him and tilted his head back, to look at Bucky, exposing his throat in the process.

“I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

Bucky stared at him, still panting, both his fists clenched tight at his sides.

“I hate this,” he snarled, a last ditch attempt to hold onto the vestiges of rage that was leaving him as fast as it had boiled over, returning to the usual simmer in the back of his mind.

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m here,” Steve repeated, his voice not having risen once.

Licking his lips, Bucky unclenched his fists slowly, letting the metal arm recalibrate.

“I trusted you to keep my secrets,” Bucky said, slower now, calmer, but feeling as raw as if he had been tazed with a dozen stun batons.

“I know,” Steve repeated softly, still just looking up at him.

Bucky shook his head, ran both hands through his hair, and exhaled loudly, pacing a fast circle around Steve. The idiot didn’t move, didn’t even turn his head to track Bucky’s movements.

“I hate being alone,” Bucky said, admitting to things he didn’t want to admit to anybody, “but at the same time, I hate having strangers near me.”

“You aren’t alone, Buck,” Steve said gently, still not turning, letting Bucky stand behind him.

Bucky sighed, all of his anger falling away, leaving only raw hurt and exhaustion in its wake. Sinking to the floor behind Steve, he shifted until his back touched Steve’s. The feel of that hot, solid spine against his own was unexpectedly calming.

It felt…safe.

“I’m just so angry,” Bucky whispered.

“It’s okay to feel what you feel,” Steve said, leaning back to press against Bucky more firmly, “and look how far you’ve come already.”

Bucky snorted, looking at his human hand and the knuckles that were healing already. He had no idea when he’d broken them.

“How’d you come to that?”

Steve shifted against his back again, solid and relaxed.

“You came here. So angry you were spitting nails, but you didn’t go off on any civilians, not physically, not even on me. You came here, where it was safe.”

“Safe for whom?”

“Everybody.”

Internally, Bucky snorted. Yeah right. Steve was seeing the best in people again, looking at the world with his rose-tinted glasses. Nobody was safe. Not Bucky, not the unspecified ‘others’. They only had here and now, this moment, and everything could be shattered in the next. 

“Why are you so optimistic all the time?” Bucky asked, looking at the play of shadows on the opposite wall.

“That’s not optimism. You’re making progress, might be small, but you gotta take your victories where you can. Every step matters, not just big ones.”

“I wasn’t talking about me, Steve.”

Steve snorted, shoulders rolling against Bucky’s back as he settled in comfortably.

“Okay, what are we talking about then?”

“You,” Bucky said quickly, eager to take the focus off himself. “The way you look at the world, the way you… You accept how the world works, and even find good in it.” It was something that he had noticed about Steve. It drove Bucky mad, angry, and yet left him warm because it spoke of hope, and Bucky wasn’t capable of hope anymore.

“It’s not that hard,” Steve answered, his voice still quiet and even. Soothing, though Bucky had calmed. “You look hard enough, you’ll find anything you want. You just gotta pick what you’re looking for. Like… Right now? You’re sitting with me. I like that.”

Bucky frowned.

“To me, it’s the opposite. The more I look, the more I see how weak, how destructive people are. I see the cracks, the faults, the points of leverage. It’s different with you,” Bucky said, huffing out a small breath. “You always sound so sure, so convinced that you know best, and that what you think should happen will happen.”

“You really hate that, don’t you?” Steve sighed and Bucky could feel it with all of his body, the way his chest expanded on the inhale and slowly, slowly relaxed on the exhale. “I’m not always sure, but I have to be.”

“The hell you have to,” Bucky snorted. “Nobody’s forcing you. It’s your choice.”

Tension crept back into Steve’s back, rippling through the muscles until it felt like Bucky was leaning against a wall.

“It is,” he agreed stiffly.

Nothing followed, though Bucky waited for it, for why ever it was Steve would make that kind of choice.

“And?” Bucky pressed, irritated now.

Steve remained silent, back hard as stone.

“You are a hypocrite, you know,” Bucky accused quietly. “You say you’re here, and you’ll always be here, and I can talk to you, but you shut me out. You don’t trust me. Why should I trust you?”

The words hit home, if the flinch Bucky could feel was any indication.

“It’s what’s expected of me,” Steve murmured, “I choose to be what’s expected of me.”

Bucky sighed, sliding down and rolling to the side enough that he could lie down on the floor beside Steve to look at him upside down.

“So basically, what I spent decades fighting, what I sacrificed most of my humanity for, what I bled for - to keep my agency, to have the right to be myself - you are giving up for free? Because...why?”

Looking down at him, Steve’s lips quirked a little, but there was nothing warm in his eyes.

“It isn’t the same at all,” he argued. “You didn’t have a choice to make.”

“Of course I did. I could have just gone with it and saved myself a lot of pain and suffering. Hell, I could probably have saved myself all those bondings, too if I had just decided to be a good little prisoner and do what was expected of someone in my position.”

Steve’s gaze was growing upset now, his eyes widening.

“It’s not… Bucky...”

“It is! You’re throwing your very self away. Throwing away your true personality for what? Publicity? Some CO? Fury? The world would end if you maybe said what you really want?”

“I… You’re jumping to conclusions,” Steve said, but there was little conviction in his voice and he wasn't meeting Bucky’s eyes any more.

Bucky rolled to face Steve now.

“Oh, but I’m not. It always starts with the little things. First, they ask you to give up on something, just a little thing. Just once. And once you do, there’s precedence. Next time, they ask you to sacrifice something bigger, and you say no, but they point out that you already gave up something before for the same reasons. Why not more? And Steve, you’re already on this slippery slope.” 

Steve was shaking his head, but Bucky wasn’t letting go of this. “When we were fighting AIM? All the things you felt but never showed? The anger that took my breath away? The disgust at what AIM did? The fierce satisfaction when the goons died? When we couldn’t take them prisoner? You played at the perfect little soldier, a mask, a heartless, soulless symbol completely, forgetting that people follow leaders, humans, not caricatures that don’t have their own thought or feelings.”

“I have…”

“You know what doesn't have feelings?” Bucky interrupted. “Doesn’t have wants? Doesn’t have weaknesses? What’s always inhumanly perfect?” Now Bucky was on his knees, staring Steve in the face, into his wide open, vulnerable and shocked eyes. “A _weapon_.”

Steve’s flinch was so hard, he rolled away from Bucky, having to catch his weight on his hand. This time, the Alpha didn’t try to reply. Slowly, he settled back onto the floor, as if moving too fast would overbalance him and he’d fall again. He still wasn’t meeting Bucky’s gaze, but his blue eyes darted about the floor, as if reading something that could tell him what to do, what to think - no, what to _say_. That was another thing Bucky had noticed, Steve never said a word he hadn’t thought out completely.

“I hate that,” Bucky said swiftly. “I hate that you play that role with me, too. Of all the people, of absolutely anyone in the world, you think I would want you to play a perfect weapon for me?”

Finally Steve met his gaze again, some of the panicked searching leaving them.

“No,” he said immediately, without hesitation. Then he reached for Bucky, but stopped with his hand half way. “Can I?”

When Bucky nodded, Steve’s hand continued forward, fingertips brushing around his eyes.

“I want you to know, that I know you’re deflecting,” he said, a note of teasing in his tone before it vanished, “but… No one…knows,” he said slowly, unsure of himself, or the words themselves, “Who I was. Dum Dum and Gabe, maybe, Pegs can’t remember, and when I woke up… They’d decided already. Who Captain America was, and I didn’t live up to their image. No one…wants Steve Rogers. They want the suit.”

“Fuck the suit then,” Bucky growled, leaning towards Steve, curling his hands over Steve’s biceps and shaking the man a little.

Steve laughed, covering Bucky’s hands. The laugh abruptly died, and he held on tight, tight enough the bones of his flesh hand ached.

“I hear you, all right? But to make a difference, the difference _I_ want to make, I need it.”

“Bullshit.”

Steve sighed at him.

“We’ve been over this.”

“No we have not. You just do what you think people want to see. It has nothing to do with the world but with your own feelings of inadequacy. It's as if you think Steve Rogers isn’t good enough, but a fake, plastic Captain America will somehow save the world by the virtue of not having a single thought for himself,” Bucky snarled.

 

Bucky felt as if something was choking him. How could Steve, how could he throw away his free will, the chance to feel something and the freedom to express it away like that? What was he thinking?

“No,” Steve argued again, “it’s more complicated than that.” The hand on Bucky’s metal arm tightened further, though the one on his flesh hand gentled. “When I woke up, I could have walked away. From all of it, but I didn’t know what to goddamned do with myself. Then Fury offered me a mission, and it was like…a lifeline. I know this. I’m _good_ at this. Maybe I didn’t at first, but I want to do this, but you didn’t…see us. The world ending under our noses and we couldn’t stop fighting. So, I used it. I used what they expected me to be and it worked, Buck, but when I’m not? When it’s just me? I can’t… It always goes wrong. That congressional hearing? I couldn’t have done that as Steve Rogers. No one fucking listens to him.” 

“My god, you really believe your own bullshit,” Bucky sat back on his heels staring at Steve. “You really, truly believe your team follows you because you pretend to be the plastic Cap figurine?”

“No, not _them_.” Doubt flickered across Steve’s face. “Maybe a little. It’s everyone _else_.”

“Steve,” Bucky said gently. “Your team is so terrified for your mental health, they have a damned Google schedule for babysitting you. They hate Captain America, but they love Steve Rogers, and are pants-shittingly scared they will lose him. And not to any enemy or sniper or bomb, but to you and your own fear.”

Steve’s gaze was darting about Bucky’s eyes now, searching them as insistent as he’d searched for floor for answers. Yet his hands hadn’t released Bucky, holding his grip in place like a vise.

“Tony made ‘What Would Steve Do’ bracelets for Christmas last year.”

“What would, what?” Bucky asked, not understanding.

“What Would Steve Do,” Steve repeated. “There are these bracelets people wear, What Would Jesus Do and it’s to remind Christians to do what Jesus would, whenever they’re in doubt.”

Bucky didn’t think he would ever feel anything warm towards Stark, but in that moment he was all but willing to hug the brilliant man.

“Steve,” Bucky emphasized, leaning in closer, making Steve look into his eyes, forcing him to see how serious Bucky was, “not Captain America. What would _Steve_ do, not what would Captain America do.”

“What?” Steve said, blinking so rapidly Bucky could see his eyelashes flutter.

“You heard me,” Buck said simply. 

Steve closed his eyes and sighed.

“I don’t want to have to be right all the time.”

“So, basically, the only person you’re pleasing with this behavior is Fury and his ilk, and you know why? Because they love having weapons on hand, and don’t want people.”

Steve’s eyes shut tighter, finally looking defeated.

“I hate you,” Steve murmured, and Bucky laughed.

“And now you are stealing my lines.”

“They are surprisingly fitting at times,” Steve said loftily, his eyes still closed, hands clamped to Bucky’s. 

Bucky shuffled closer, nudging Steve and pulling at him until Steve curled his body towards Bucky and rested his head on Bucky’s shoulder. When he finally let go of Bucky’s hands, Bucky wrapped them around his back and held on as hard as Steve seemed to want.

“You think I don’t care, that I don’t pay attention to you,” Bucky said quietly. “I do. I know how you fight, I know how you leave your left side unguarded more often than is healthy. I know you’re uncomfortable with strong women, and duck your head when a confident woman walks up to you. I know you have a slightly different tone of voice reserved for each of your Avengers. I know you’re afraid the pack thing will get out, and how it could affect your pack members. I know you bite your bottom lip when you think of sex, you don’t trust your body, and are too self-conscious of your size and strength, but when you’re focussed on something you forget to be self-conscious and are graceful. I know you think I keep you at arm's length, but I am simply not interested in the plastic-perfect face you try to show the world. Steve Rogers, the guy that sassed me back the whole way through three Sisters? That’s the guy I want, and when he comes up? He’s welcome to everything I can give.”

“And what if I’m not convinced I don’t have to be both?” Steve asked, having snuggled further into Bucky’s chest as he talked, his lips now against his throat so Bucky could feel them brush his skin, the heat of his breath, and the curve of his smile. The latter had grown bigger the longer Bucky talked. “Would you help me? Make sure I don’t lose myself?

“When have I ever not called you out on your bullshit?” Bucky questioned. “In case you haven’t noticed, I kind of love doing that.”

“Mm,” Steve hummed, “especially when it means we don’t have to talk about _your_ problems.”

“Well, it is proven that offence is the best kind of defense, right?”

“It makes me angry, too,” Steve said quietly against his throat, “That they all got the happy ending. Which is stupid, you know? ‘Cause that’s why I did it, so everyone could have their happy endings, but I never thought… I never thought I’d wake up and they’d have everything I wanted, and I’d be left behind with…nothing.”

“So get angry,” Bucky said easily. Let Steve get angry, let him rage, and snipe and be an asshole. Bucky didn’t care if Steve started cursing or complaining or was just being grumpy. he would prefer that to that perfect, unruffled, untouchable facade of Captain America.

Steve wiggled, his nose and cheek rubbing against Bucky’s throat, against his scent glands so Bucky’s scent would be all over him.

“Never helps anything,” Steve said with a sigh, “Don’t get me wrong, I was angry for a long time and still, sometimes… When I think about Peggy, but…I figured, I can build my own happy ending now. I can have what they got.”

Bucky rolled his eyes.

“If you start using more ‘I’ statements, that would be a start I guess,” Bucky said doubtfully.

“No clue what you mean,” Steve muttered, but didn’t seem to care much as he was still rubbing himself against Bucky, “What I know is, I’m starting to get some of it. I,” his voice lost some of that confidence, “have you?”

“You do,” Bucky confirmed, though he wasn’t sure if Steve’s memory was as good as he claimed. Super-serum and eidetic memory, Bucky’s ass. How many times had he already said to the guy that he didn’t change his mind?

Steve let out a breath, like relief, and settled against Bucky again.

“You can, too,” he said gently. “How am I supposed to get a happy ending with you, if you don’t?”

“Well, if you try for a happy ending with some other guy, it will not be a very long one…”

“Yeah?” Steve asked, lips smiling against Bucky’s skin again. “Why’s that?”

“Because one, I am a mean shot, and two, I don’t share,” Bucky growled out, tightening his hold on Steve.

“And,” Steve said slowly, “you don’t change your mind.”

Bucky smiled, wide and brilliant, letting his teeth show.

“I do not.”

“I think,” Steve said, “this slow thing is working for us.”

Bucky’s smile was wiped off his face immediately and he whined.

“I hate it.”

“Because I’m not touching you?”

“It’s been weeks already!” Bucky complained. “I want sex.”

Steve sat up, pulling away, and Bucky growled his displeasure. Tightening his hold, he yanked, pulling Steve off the floor and into his lap. The Alpha went, eyes widening with surprise, with a yelp. To Bucky’s mild surprise, though, he stayed.

“All right,” Steve said, wiggling to get comfortable and arranging his arms around Bucky’s shoulders, “well, I worry, if you hadn’t caught on, that the sex is going to mask our problems. That if we don’t learn how to be together without it, we won’t figure out how to be together with it…” Something flickered across Steve’s face and he added in a rush, “And I really worry that if we bond again, temporary or not, I’m going to hurt you.”

Bucky fought the urge to bang his head against the nearest wall. How many times did he have to say to Steve that he wouldn’t change his mind? Temporary, or permanent, it didn’t matter to Bucky at all at this point. As far as he was concerned, it was Steve who was afraid he would change his mind and stall until he decided he was over Bucky. It made Bucky’s heart speed up at the thought.

“I told you,” Bucky said shortly, “Coming back to you, I knew if we fucked, you might bond me again. Not permanently, which wasn’t something I was willing to have happen, but… When we were fighting together, and I could feel you, and find you… It was nice. Like it hasn’t been before, and I did…wonder…what it would be like if it wasn’t broken. If you were completely there.”

Steve’s eyes had gone wide, his lips parting, and Bucky was glaring, daring him to laugh, or make fun of it, or tell him it wasn’t what he wanted. They’d hurt him, sure, but Bucky knew what the hell he wanted. No one would tell him otherwise, and a bond with Steve? Yeah, he would be okay with that.

“Bucky,” Steve said slowly, his eyes darting down to Bucky’s lips, his throat and Bucky tilted his chin back so Steve could see all that was on offer. To his satisfaction, Steve groaned. “Okay, all right,” he said, too quick, too loud, “I’m… Everytime, I’m… Waking up without you,” Bucky felt his stomach swoop, “I’m scared, okay? I just… I need time.”

“How much?”

“I don’t know,” Steve admitted. “Not long. Just…some, okay?”

“Fine,” Bucky sighed, “but only because you’re not Cap Facing me.”

“Oh my god,” Steve groaned, slumping forward onto Bucky’s shoulder, “Stop talking to Clint.”

“No,” Bucky said seriously, “he’s my ceiling buddy.”

Steve laughed, breath tickling Bucky’s skin.

“Okay,” Bucky growled, “if I can’t have sex, get off.”

Instead of moving, Steve’s arms latched around Bucky.

“No! I want to cuddle my Buckitty.”

Despite himself, Bucky laughed.

“Okay, you snuggle me and I will snuggle your cock, see if it likes me better now.”

Steve growled, but there was no challenge in it.

“It likes you too much. I keep telling you that’s the problem.”

“That is not a problem,” Bucky argued, very sure of his argument.

“Is, too,” Steve argued right back, playful and relaxed.

Still smiling, Bucky squeezed him tighter. He’d wait, even if Steve was being stupid, for a while longer, so long as Bucky could have this. Steve, not trying to be who he wasn’t, just himself.

\----

Bucky rounded the corner and nearly slid to a stop. He knew Steve was somewhere close, the scent of him fresh and strong in the corridors, making it easy for Bucky to track him in this large, but ultimately enclosed space of the tower. What he needed Steve for slipped from his mind at the sight of him, though. Steve was leaning against a wall. He was dressed how he always was: just add a pair of suspenders and it would be 1935 again. The sight of him wasn’t what stopped him. It was the little blonde thing leaning on the wall next to him.

Nearly a head and shoulders shorter than Steve, she was looking up at the Alpha through her long dark lashes. Leaning forward, hands wrapped around a coffee mug between them, she was all open invitation in her grey suit. Steve, who always smiled politely when Bucky had seen people flirt with him, was leaning forward as well. His head was tilted down attentively, his body indicated relaxation and openness, letting her deeper into his personal space than he usually let anyone who wasn’t an Avenger.

Whatever she had just said had made him laugh, head half turning so Bucky caught a glimpse of his profile. His smile, just a half-smirk, as he glanced away and back. 

“My interest is certainly piqued,” Steve said, voice pitched friendly and warm.

Bucky wanted to kill her.

“Steve,” Bucky called, making his stride casual as he came nearer. Immediately, Steve’s head came up, his smile brightening, widening. It would have been satisfying, having the Alpha’s attention so easily, except he didn’t move away from the - Bucky sniffed - Beta.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve said easily, “Did you need something?”

Coming to a stop at Steve’s elbow, Bucky eyed his rival speculatively. She smiled, friendly and disarming, but he could feel that her gaze was as assessing as his own. Not civilian, then. Not that Steve would ever chose a civilian. No, he needed someone with fire to match his own.

“Who’s your friend?” Bucky asked, ignoring the question entirely.

Steve’s gaze flicked to the woman and back to him.

“Sharon Carter, this is Sergeant James Barnes. Bucky, Sharon here works for S.H.I.E.L.D., undercover mostly. We were discussing a joint operation.”

“Yes,” Sharon picked up gamely, “I would only be stealing your leader from you for a few days. There’s a cartel in Florida smuggling some interesting artifacts, and I could use the Captain’s unique,” her gaze flicked down Steve’s body appreciatively, “expertise.”

“In artifacts?” Bucky said disbelievingly.

“No,” Steve answered, “In knocking heads together. I would be posing as a bodyguard. Silent, hovering and observing, unless something goes south.”

“My cover is a known black market auctioneer,” Sharon said, but her eyes had returned to Steve’s even as she addressed Bucky, “She’s known to have very _particular_ taste in her bodyguards. The Captain is just the right fit.”

Steve chuckled, blushing, but still amused. There was no feigned obliviousness that Steve liked to hide behind with others, no blushing naiveté. This was the man Bucky had screwed senseless. Aware, attentive, sassy, and confident. Bucky hated that this Beta could bring these aspects out of Steve so easily when Bucky had to fight for it so damned hard.

“You’ve worked together before,” Bucky stated.

“A few times,” Steve didn’t bother trying to hide it, which was a relief. If he was hiding something... “You never said what you needed, Buck.”

“You said to come find you if I wanted to spar,” Bucky said, feeling the request inadequate and wishing he had another that could pull Steve from Sharon’s presence. “So, here I am.”

Steve’s hand reached out, squeezing his shoulder. Scent marking, making Bucky his. Only it wasn’t as satisfying this time because Steve’s hand was falling away, motioning Sharon forward. 

“Rain check,” Steve was saying as Sharon turned in the shadow of his arms. Not touching - she wasn’t pack, he wouldn’t touch her - but ushered along in a parody of an embrace that set Bucky’s teeth on edge. “Sharon and I need to finish discussing the mission.”

“Steve,” Bucky said sharply, “you’re on vacation.”

The Alpha stopped immediately, turning to him. Catching Bucky’s arm, he didn’t pull him close since he knew Bucky hated public displays of affection, but for once it was exactly what he wanted.

“The job’s not until I get back,” Steve promised, “It’s just details, I promise. I’ll come find you as soon as we’re done. Okay?”

Bucky didn’t like it. He didn’t trust S.H.I.E.L.D. at all, he had already seen how easy it was to infiltrate it. Having Steve out of his sight, with an unknown variable, planning a mission in secret, without him, was something Bucky hated with a vengeance. He could, grudgingly, allow other Avengers to guard Steve’s back, but this slip of a girl? 

He wanted to growl at the woman, to chase her away, but Steve was staring at him searchingly, pleadingly, obviously wanting him to cooperate.

“I don’t trust S.H.I.E.L.D. You shouldn’t take missions without other Avengers as backup,” Bucky said as calmly as he could.

“She’s Peggy’s niece,” Steve answered, “I trust her as much as I do any Avenger.”

Like having some DNA in common with some long dead Omega would mean anything. As if Sharon couldn’t betray Steve, or couldn’t herself be betrayed. Bucky made his face blank anyway. It was no use fighting Steve publicly on this, he would just need to find a way to work around Steve and his blind loyalty.

“Nice to meet you, Sergeant Barnes,” Sharon said politely over her shoulder as Steve pulled away again. She was too kind to gloat that she had taken Steve away. The kind of person Steve deserved. Unlike Bucky, who almost reached for a knife, almost blurted for Steve to wait. He wouldn’t subject his pride to that, though. There were other ways to show Steve he wouldn’t be ignored. He wouldn’t be replaced. Sharon Carter was nothing, not when Steve could have Bucky. 

Bucky now just needed to find a way to both secure Steve as his and make sure the great idiot was safe.

\----

Bucky woke with an ache deep within his stomach. A twisting, pulling thing made worse by the fire that was burning under his skin. He was used to being in heat, to a certain extent. After decades of its near constant presence, it was always on his mind, close by, always just about to happen. This was different though. It was hotter, more urgent than ever. His mind kept slipping to thoughts of sex, thoughts of Steve, of his body, his _cock_. He wanted to feel that body over him, wanted it between his legs with a strength that made him ache. For the first time in his life, he dreamt about an Alpha pushing his cock inside him. Of _Steve_ pushing his knot inside him, stretching him and making him ache from the fullness and stretch and burn. Knotting them together, and fucking him again and again.

After going off his suppressants, his heat was back. The decision to stop taking them was still conflicting. He was free to do what he wanted, but he doubted the other Avengers were going to take kindly to the scent. Pepper wouldn’t care, despite her designation, she was bonded, and had nearly as much control as Steve. Natasha was going to be disgusted, Tony furious, Clint disappointed, Bruce and Sam irritated.

Steve, though…

What would Steve do? That was what had kept him from taking the suppressants. Some shrivelled, human part of him was aware it was a ruthless thing to do, to simply force the issue like this, but it was all he knew. How to fight, how to survive, how not to _bow_ no matter what. He needed… Bucky couldn’t say, even in the privacy of his own mind. 

That the bond had meant something? That it had even existed, as stunted and damaged as it must have been, was stunning. Bucky had honestly thought he was incapable of it after the last handler had failed to bond him. Even before the bonds had become weak, thready things. The last one had been half-broken when the next handler had been introduced, the previous one having been killed in a car accident of all things. Even half-mindless with heat and drugs, the bond didn’t take.

But being bonded with Steve? Being able to see behind his masks. Knowing if he was hurt, how hurt, and where he was at all times, it was a safety net Bucky hadn’t expected he needed to have. A comfort when his Alpha was a little insane, liked to do stupid things, and ran into dangerous situations with a goddamned frisbee as his best defense. And don’t even start Bucky on how blindly trusting Steve was at times. 

Especially that Carter woman. Steve seemed to completely forget that she’d been recruited by S.H.I.E.L.D., spent most of her time at S.H.I.E.L.D. with S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel. People tended to absorb and internalise the views of the group they were identifying with. Steve taking S.H.I.E.L.D. missions without the Avengers, when no less than three years ago they’d been seventy percent Hydra, was just asking for trouble. It would be easy for Steve to just disappear. And what was worse, it would be days, or even weeks before any of the Avenger’s knew Steve was missing. Though kidnapping wasn’t the only thing that worried Bucky.

Steve was an idiot. One that thought he needed to please people in power, that he needed to be somehow perfect, to be worthy of this title of Captain America, and Bucky would bet his remaining human arm that this line of thinking was subtly enforced by Fury and his ilk. How many times had Steve been subtly emotionally manipulated into acting the perfect little soldier? The doll that did what was ‘right’, that ‘served’ instead of asking questions? Doubting?

Unlike what Steve thought, this kind of manipulation wasn’t always obvious, wasn’t heavy-handed. There were hundreds, thousands, of ways to affect the psyche, to gently, craftily brainwash people to toe the corporate line. To make them hesitate, doubt their own mind in that crucial moment which would mean victory for the other side. 

Bucky knew it first hand, had experienced it all. That was one of the reasons he was so abrasive, so challenging. He found people had trouble focusing on manipulating him when he was needling them endlessly and forcing them to be defensive at every turn. Steve didn’t have it it him to look at his so-called friends, his commanding officers, and the leaders he believed in, and doubt every word they spoke, every breath they took. Steve didn’t _want_ to do that, but Bucky could. He could and _would_. 

He'd needle them, claw at them, irritate them, and make then explain themselves every second of every day. Bucky could make sure the people Steve worked with were not plotting against him. And he could do it better than anyone. Better than Natasha, whose loyalties were clearly conflicted at times. Better than Stark, who had potential, but was blinded by his own arrogance. Stark didn’t realise that his enemy didn’t need to be smarter than him to catch him in a trap. Unlike them, Bucky saw it, and looking at Steve’s actions, how he was floundering with S.H.I.E.L.D., clearly not sure of his purpose, Bucky needed to do that, to be that for him, whether Steve liked it or not.

Bucky wanted the bond back for so many reasons, but Steve had been so insistent on going slow. And Bucky had given him that, given him weeks to think it over, weeks to make sure he wanted a bond with Bucky. Frankly, at this point, Steve either wanted the bond, or didn’t. Bucky wasn’t sure how he would deal if Steve decided he didn’t want to bond after all, but he felt they were running out of time. _Steve_ was running out of time. Going slow had been fine while Steve was on vacation and out of harm's way. Now that the vacation ended? Steve was already planning long missions away. There was no more time for waiting. 

Bucky had made up his mind some time ago, and just as he repeated over and over to Steve, he wasn’t going to change it. But Steve was waiting for some unspecified time that Bucky couldn’t imagine, and not taking into account that when Steve went into the field again, they could very well end up separated forever. As good as Bucky was, he wasn’t a god, and he could fail, could be killed, captured, maimed. Just as Steve could.

Bucky wasn’t going to wait for somebody to destroy their chance, wasn’t going to let Steve endanger what they could have, just because he couldn’t make up his mind. How Steve would react to this, Bucky didn’t know; there was only one way to find out.

Climbing from his bed, Bucky got ready for his day.

The hall was empty when he left his rooms, but Bucky could hear voices from the common area. He followed them to find Tony, Natasha, Clint, and Steve in the kitchen. Clint was sitting on the kitchen counter, eating a bowl of cereal and laughing about something Tony had said. Natasha was sitting at the kitchen table with Tony, smiling at them patiently, while Steve stood at the stove cooking what smelled like bacon and eggs.

Bucky kind of hoped it was bacon and eggs.

Refusing to let himself feel nervous, Bucky strode from the hall and dropped into the chair across from Tony. Instantly, conversation stopped. Natasha glared at him, Tony looked furious, and Clint just stared, slowly chewing his food. Then he slid from his perch and moved to stand at Steve’s left, leaning back and crossing his arms.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” Tony demanded, before Bucky could see more of Steve’s reaction than tension appearing in his shoulders.

“Sitting,” Bucky said flippantly, tilting his head back and rolling his neck to face Tony, radiating challenge. It was instinctual, after so many years, to protect whatever ground he had managed to gain. After years of having everything taken from him, his hackles were up as soon as anything even skirted close to being a challenge. It didn’t matter that he was the one starting it, he couldn’t help himself. He would rise to it.

Tony narrowed his eyes, but didn’t avert his gaze, or back down.

“Why didn’t you take your suppressants?” Natasha demanded, not letting him dodge the question for long, and pulling his attention from Tony. Her body language was much better controlled, not radiating an outright challenge, but not hiding her displeasure. Like a true Omega, she hated smelling another Omega in heat. It was an ingrained instinct, the subconscious, animal part of the mind taking it as threat, that somebody else was more fertile.

Bucky shrugged.

“If it’s bothering you, there’s a quick fix.”

A resounding crack echoed through the entire floor. All eyes turned to the kitchen where Clint had his hand on Steve’s back, leaning into him, entire being radiating concern. Tension flowed from the Alpha, his head bowed and shoulders hunched forward as if trying to curl in on himself. The hand that had been next to the stove had crushed the granite countertop, pieces falling to the floor at his feet.

“Steve?” Natasha asked, half rising out of her chair.

Clint lifted his hand, waving her back down. Though she sat, it was slow and Bucky felt anger ripple through him as Clint’s hand returned to Steve’s back. No one should be touching Steve but him.

Steve growled, turning and fixing Bucky with a glare. Sweat was beading on his forehead, pulse fluttering so quickly Bucky could see it against Steve’s throat. Then the smell, - god, the _smell_ \- washed over them. It was powerful, musky; comfort and strength, a promise of...of _safety._

Bucky didn’t realize he’d bared his throat until it was done.

“Seriously?” Steve sounded so angry, angry and hurt and it was that hurt that was throwing Bucky. “ _This_ is what you do? It’s a fuckin’ pill, Barnes. Once a day. Once a fucking day! But you didn’t take it, did you? You just had to fuck with me some more. We’re compatible, and you -”

“Actually, it’s four pills for me,” Bucky drawled out, unwilling to bend.

“That is _not_ the point!”

The tower alarm blared, interrupting and signalling they were to Assemble for an imminent threat. Steve’s reaction was pure rage. He looked like he was about to destroy everything in sight. Then Clint was jumping up on the broken counter, grabbing Steve’s head and literally dragging it against his throat.

“Breathe,” the archer commanded. “Just breathe.”

Both Steve’s hands came up, flexing in the air, before Bucky watched the tension drain from him. Steve’s arms dropped to Clint’s waist, just holding for another few breaths, before he straightened. They locked gazes and Steve nodded, thanks and appreciation and what the fuck had just happened? The anger wasn’t gone, but the Alpha rage was.

“Tony,” Steve said darkly, “you’re in charge. I’m benching myself.”

“What?” Bucky finally found his voice. “Why?”

Every gaze fixed on him again, all angry.

“Did you not hear me?” Steve demanded, voice low and god the things it did to Bucky. “We’re _compatible_. Your fucking heat just put me into rut. I’m benched. You… _Fuck_ you.”

Turning on his heel, Steve stormed from the room, ignoring Clint’s voice telling him to wait. Not looking back, not even a glance. It hurt much worse than Bucky had expected it, even if it was what he had planned.

Good, Bucky thought, despite the hard, heavy feeling in his chest at seeing the anger and betrayal on Steve’s face. If the team was gone, Steve wouldn’t have Captain America’s over-thinking and rational, careful actions. Bucky needed Steve anything but careful. Angry would work too, he supposed, even though he didn’t like seeing him like that. He needed Steve to do what he wanted for once, not thinking of a thousand different reasons somebody else had put in his head. 

And Bucky was fairly sure what Steve wanted was Bucky. What Bucky wanted was definitely Steve. If Steve decided to wait this rut out, alone, Bucky wasn’t sure what he would do, but it probably wouldn’t be nice. Still, he hadn’t expected to be so affected by Steve’s reaction. Hurting Steve wasn’t anything he’d ever wanted, but he didn’t know it would have this effect on him. Still, just as he had told Steve so many times, he wasn’t going to change his mind easily, no matter how much his chosen course of action would hurt.

“What the hell was that, Bucky?” Clint demanded, voice taut, breaking the tense silence that followed in the wake of the elevators doors sliding closed. “I know you have issues, man, but seriously?”

“Alphas go into rut all the time,” Bucky growled, not liking the way they were staring at him as though he had murdered somebody’s kitten. 

Bucky was so tired by the whole thing, the way everyone was snapping at him for stating the most obvious shit. It was just a damned heat, why the hell were they making such a big deal of it? And why were they acting as if Alpha ruts were news to them? Two of them were Omegas, too for fucks sake. Shouldn’t they know all that already?

“Does he believe that?” Tony snapped at Natasha. “He can’t _actually_ believe that.”

Natasha remained quiet, her eyes shadowed but still hard.

“So he’s in rut,” Bucky ground out, “Don’t be so fucking melodramatic. It’s not like it’ll kill him.”

Surely they knew that. Alphas had hundreds of ruts. Enjoyed them every fucking time, or got frustrated just because they couldn't get their knot into an Omega. So what? A little frustration never killed anyone. Steve would be fine in a day.

“Melodramatic?” Tony demanded. “You’re _ninety-seven_. I know you were born in the stone age, but you cannot actually be this ignorant.”

“I have been bonded with dozens of Alphas,” Bucky growled, low and warning, deep enough to put any Alpha to shame. He was not happy remembering how strong some of those bonds had been. Especially in the beginning, with how little power he’d had when in their grip. “I know what I’m talking about!”

“Newsflash, James,” Natasha said flatly, tense, but so very angry. “The abuse you suffered doesn’t give you the right to abuse others.”

Before Bucky could respond, Clint was moving, the approach distracting Bucky from the attacking Omegas. Pushing around the side of the table, he leaned over the back of Bucky’s chair. Bucky tensed, ready to turn around and attack the Beta for daring to set himself at his back like that but… The more rational, saner part of him realised it was just his hormones speaking, all the broken parts of him. He didn't really want to hurt any of them, but it was so difficult to control. The rage, the anger, especially with how offensive he found Tony’s words. Clint, on the other hand, didn’t feel like a threat, even positioned behind him. Bucky was aware of his presence of course, he couldn’t not be, but Clint was surprisingly...different. 

His scent was...relaxing.

The proximity shouldn’t have been enough for his scent to reach Bucky, but it did, the smell of coffee and rainstorms, leather and steel, someplace quiet and hidden away filling his nose. Bucky’s muscles relaxed almost without his notice, just a little, but enough to tamp down the rising anger, some of the fire receding beneath his flesh. He didn’t like feeling as unsettled as he had when everybody had turned on him. Uncomfortable meant vulnerable, and vulnerability always lead to pain.

“Better?” Clint asked, as if he didn't know the answer.

“Y-yeah,” Bucky answered, thrown once more.

“Betas can emit calming pheromones,” Clint explained. “You’ve never been around a lot of Betas, have you?”

Bucky snorted bitterly.

“Oh, I’ve known plenty of them. You forget most of my guards were Betas. They never did anything like this.”

Clint’s mouth twisted, something quiet and painful in his eyes.

“They should have. They should have helped you, not taken part in your torture.”

Bucky looked away from the archer’s soft eyes.

“I don’t expect anybody to help. You want something, you have to do it yourself.”

“JARVIS, cut the alarm,” Tony snapped in the too-casual tone he used when trying to disguise his emotions. “We really don’t have time to coddle the angry man-child. Natasha, go get the big guy. I’ll see if I can contact Thor. Barton, go see if you can help Cap.” Looking at Bucky he added, “Consider _yourself_ benched.”

“Are you crazy?” Bucky asked incredulously, the quiet Clint had given him vanishing. “Steve’s out of commision and now you want to bench me, too? You don’t even know what the threat _is_ , Stark!”

“I don’t care!” Tony shouted, surging to his feet and startling the others. The Omega rarely shouted. He often was sarcastic and inconsiderate, yes, but actual yelling? He considered himself above such behavior. “If I have to see your goddamn face, smell your fucking _stench_ for another _moment_ , I’ll…” With a wrench of will, Tony appeared to get himself back under control. “I’ll do something Steve won’t forgive me for. So, like the man said, fuck you, you’re grounded.”

“Tony,” Clint said hesitantly. “He’s right, we’re two men down…”

“Just _go_ ,” Tony barked before he took a breath and faced his friend. “I can’t be worrying about Steve and this mission at the same time. Help him, if he lets you.”

Frowning, Clint didn’t argue, but he didn’t agree either.

“I’m not a child,” Bucky growled, but not as loud as before. Clint’s presence was preventing the cascade of anger and violence that always ruled his life. He was still agitated and confused, but not as willing to turn to violence.

“Then act like it,” Tony snapped back, but he was already turning away.

Natasha stood, turning and following after Tony without another word. Bucky didn’t try to follow, could only sit there, ears ringing, mind spinning. He was compatible with Steve. He was torturing Steve? The companionship between himself and the other Avengers, the place he had been creating for himself, it was all crumbling away. Because they were coddling Steve? That didn’t mesh with everything he’d seen at the Tower so far, but it _was_ just a rut. Steve had been fine last time.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” Clint asked, breaking the silence left in the wake of Natasha and Tony’s departure.

“Get what?” Bucky snapped and repeated, “Tony’s overreacting.”

“Yes,” Clint said and Bucky stilled, not expecting such an easy agreement. What had Clint been trying to get at, then? “He’s compatible with Steve as well.”

“What’s that have to do with anything?” Bucky demanded, irritated by this information being pushed in his face again. He knew it. It was one of the reasons he would rather have Steve bonded to him sooner, rather than later. Stark had far too much sway over Steve, and he didn't like Bucky at all, either. Bucky could imagine Stark convincing Steve to wait another cycle, to think things out, put it off indefinitely. 

No. 

Bucky wouldn’t allow it and he wasn’t about to buy into the hype about compatibility. As a child, he’d thought it meant a one and only. A soulmate kind of thing. His life, however, had cured him of such ridiculous romantic notions. Compatibility only meant bonding was easier, faster, stronger. Nothing more. There was no reason to make such a big deal out of it.

“Fuck, you really _don’t_ get it,” Clint pushed a hand through his hair. “I guess it makes sense you didn’t know, if no one bothered to explain all the details to you. Ever? About Beta’s and Alpha ruts and -”

“I know more than I want to about Alpha ruts,” Bucky interrupted. “And Betas are simply not Alphas and Omegas. What else could possibly be so important?”

“Betas aren’t so useless, thanks, but that’s not really important right now. Right now,” Clint said pointedly, “you need to understand how a rut starts.”

Bucky scowled.

“They just happen. Like an Omega’s heat.”

“Yes,” Clint said patiently, “but a rut also happens when an Alpha scents an Omega in heat,” Clint gentled his tone, “ _and_ they’re emotionally attracted to that Omega. Then they can go into rut immediately.”

Bucky leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

“But why would Steve’s rut affect Tony? He’s bonded.”

“The bond just means we’re lucky Tony didn’t go into heat as well. If he’d been unbonded, he would have.”

Distantly, Bucky was grateful that Tony hadn’t gone into heat because of Steve. The very thought of Tony in heat anywhere near Steve left Bucky with a fierce sense of his territory being threatened. The thought that he might actually try something with Steve, well... Bucky might have killed him. With his baseline level of aggression, it was a too-real possibility.

Though Clint’s gaze softened, his pity grew. It made Bucky feel like a freak. How had he been supposed to know all this?

“If you apologize,” Clint said gently, “explain, after they’ve both calmed down, they’ll forgive you.”

Looking away, down the hall where Steve had disappeared, Bucky tried to hide how affected he was by Clint’s words. Mostly, how he agreed that he should apologize. Especially to Steve. And he would apologize, yes, but it still wouldn’t change his plan. He wanted Steve to decide, today, if they were going to bond or…

Bucky wasn’t going to be thinking about or’s.

“You should,” Bucky swallowed, “go, join the others. They’ll need you and I…“ Briefly, he considered telling Clint he was going to screw Steve senseless and make him finally his, but bit back those words. Nobody wanted to know that anyway. “I’ll apologize. To Steve. I won’t,” he added quickly, “make it worse.” 

If his plan worked, he would stop the drama once and for all.

Clint was silent a beat before he nodded slowly. 

“I’ll go. Don’t make me regret leaving you here.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Bucky demanded of Clint’s retreating back.

“Don’t hurt him.”

Bucky glared after Clint as the archer walked down the hall. How the fuck was he supposed to guarantee he wouldn’t hurt Steve? Everything he’d done seemed to hurt Steve, no matter if he wanted to or not. He didn’t know how _not_ to hurt Steve.

When Clint was gone, the floor felt far emptier than it was. Or maybe that was just Bucky’s chest. The ache in his back and stomach was worse than ever with the Beta’s departure, the heat unfurling under his skin, and all he wanted, _all he wanted_ , was Steve to touch him. Fuck him, knot him, and he hadn’t wanted that...ever. Not even the Alphas Hydra had sent to him had been men he _wanted_. Not like this.

Sitting there wasn’t helping anything. Though his legs felt weak, Bucky forced himself to his feet and slowly walked to the elevator. It took him to Steve’s floor without needing to ask. In the hall, he knocked at Steve’s door and waited, but there was no answer. Another knock received the same response, so Bucky took a breath and tried the handle.

It was unlocked.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside. The smell hit him immediately. Steve, strength, and power, and he should just give in to it, just let Steve have him. Let…

Bucky shook himself. The heat hadn’t had this much control over him in decades. He wasn’t going to let it win now, even with this new...incentive.

Following Steve’s scent, Bucky ended up in the bedroom. Though he’d kicked off his shoes, Steve hadn’t gotten undressed otherwise. His face was buried in a pillow, hand shoved down his sweats. He wasn’t stroking, just holding, as his chest rose and fell rapidly. His large, muscled frame was stretched lengthwise on the bed, facing away. Bucky spent a moment just staring at that perfect ass, practically in his face, raised a little from the bed, and reminding Bucky how it had felt to push his own hard cock between those firm cheeks. Into the incredibly tight clench of Steve’s body.

“Steve?” Bucky asked carefully, firmly pulling his mind away from the memory of how good it felt to be inside that hard body.

Steve groaned. It wasn’t the kind of sound Bucky wanted to induce in him. It didn’t sound like pleasure, but pain. Old pain. Steve didn’t move, though. Not even the hand in his pants, only the muscles of his back rippled beneath the grey shirt he was wearing.

“Fuck off,” Steve grumbled into the pillow, not even pulling his face free to look at Bucky.

“I won't,” Bucky said firmly, creeping deeper into the room.

“You are such an asshole,” Steve muttered, lifting his head and glaring at him, “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because the time for dithering is over,” Bucky answered, meeting that angry gaze. “You want to go back to work and leave everyone behind? Fine, but not before we settle this thing between us.”

“ _Settle_ things?” Steve surged off the bed, pulling his hand free, crouching, his muscles taut as though he might fling himself across the room at Bucky. “This is how you settle things? Go off your suppressants without so much as a damn _warning_?”

Bucky came closer, putting one knee on the bed, as close to Steve as he could without touching him.

“Yes, because I am not the one hesitating in this relationship,” Bucky said, fisting his hands to keep himself from touching Steve.

“No,” Steve growled, “You’re the one acting like my emotions and hormones are strings for you to pull.”

“I want you to take what you really want. Not what other people think you should want. What _you_ want.” Bucky leaned in closer to get a noseful of Steve’s scent. “You are most honest with me when you’re in a rut.”

Steve’s hand lashed out, catching Bucky’s hair. He twisted them both around, pulling Bucky bodily onto the bed and hovering over him. Bucky let his body do what it wanted, flowing easily under Steve’s pull. He let himself be manhandled, tilted his head to ease the strain on his hair, and showed his neck to Steve, letting him see and smell Bucky’s heat. Shoving his knee between Bucky’s thighs, Steve pinned him with one hand on his shoulder, the other remaining tangled in his hair.

“What the hell do you want honesty for so bad that you’d do this to me?”

Even as he said it, Steve buried his nose against Bucky’s throat, inhaling deeply.

“You’re hesitating,” Bucky repeated. “You’re unsure if you want to bond with me or not.”

The growl that build in Steve was low and dark.

“I’ve told you, I’ve told you over and over that’s what I want.” Steve’s face left his throat, hovering over Bucky’s, pupils blown wide. “What fucking good is honesty if you won’t listen?”

“I do listen,” Bucky protested. “I went with your plan. I did all I could to follow the boundaries you set up.”

“You hear what you want,” Steve snarled, but was pushing his thigh further between Bucky’s legs. Lightly, he tugged at Bucky’s hair, urging his head back, throat arching so he could press his face back in.

“No,” Bucky said as gently as he could. “I hear your fear.” He shifted his leg to hook it over Steve’s hip. “I hear you dismissing a very real threat, while bowing to that fear. I waited as long as I could. I won’t wait any longer.”

“You could have told me,” Steve said, still angry, hands digging bruises into Bucky’s shoulder, “Could have said something and what… What _threat_?”

“I’ve told you,” Bucky said, “many times. You aren’t invulnerable, and the way you went after the Council? You’re a prime candidate for being ‘disappeared’. Especially when you let S.H.I.E.L.D. manipulate you so easily.”

“ _I’m_ the threat?” Steve demanded, his shoulders tensing as if he’d pull away again. In the end, all he did was press his nose and mouth against the scent gland beneath Bucky’s ear. Tilting his head, giving Steve access, he struggled to keep his own control.

“To yourself, yes,” Bucky nodded, heedless of the grip Steve had on him. Bucky didn’t mind the bruises. They would heal soon enough anyway and Steve wasn’t doing it on purpoe.

“I’m the…” Steve trailed off, shifting over Bucky, their bodies brushing from chest to thigh. Bucky could feel how hard Steve was against his lower belly. “God, you smell so good. So fucking good, Buck. Why’re you… I want you so damn bad.”

“You can have me,” Bucky whispered, undulating his body under Steve, rubbing himself up against Steve so that he groaned and tumbled back down over Bucky. “You can have everything you want. You can have sex, you can have the bond, you can have a steady peek at my emotions. Don’t you want to have it? Always? All the time?” Bucky breathed deeply, long, slow, and deep, getting a real chestful of Steve’s pheromones. “Wouldn’t you like to have that sense of security?”

Tension was sliding back into Steve’s muscles, though he was loosening his hold on Bucky’s shoulder. The Alpha pulled away completely, leaving Bucky on the bed. Even as he did, as Steve moved away, his voice shook. His eyes locked on Bucky’s throat and chest as he licked his lips. With a sick, rolling stomach, Bucky realised he could push Steve into having sex with him despite that protest. Steve’s nostrils were flaring, pale skin flushed, and already starting to bead with sweat. More than ever, he was affected by Bucky’s presence.

Quick on the heels of that realisation came another one, a sharp and fierce awareness that he would never, ever, manipulate Steve that way.

“Want it,” Steve panted, soft and breathless, “so bad. You, mine? God, yes, but you…” Sitting up, pulling away, Steve glared at Bucky again. “You don’t so _why_?”

Bucky frowned. Steve clearly wanted him to do something, say something, that much Bucky was aware of. What, Bucky didn’t know. He had no words to explain. For him, things either were or weren't. He had no reasons for what he felt, nothing to deconstruct for Steve to better understand. 

“Why the hell would you think I would offer this if I didn’t want it? Have I ever had any problems telling you no?”

“If your plan was supposed to involve me _thinking_ you’ve got a pretty shitty plan,” Steve snapped. “I know, I remember, you don’t want it… And god, I just want to bite you. So much more… You smell so good, like I didn’t… I didn’t remember, but so good.”

“See?” Bucky asked, “You’re the one that makes yourself suffer.”

“I know that!” Steve shouted, “I _know_ that. Don’t I get to make choices too? No, because you fuckin’ do _this_ and I did this before and you…you _left_ and I won’t. Not twice.”

It hit him hard, that Steve would reject him like that. After all those pretty words and reassurances, Steve was rejecting him outright. It didn’t even take him a second, didn’t make him pause for a heartbeat.

“Hurting you wasn’t,” Bucky blurted, reeling from the rejection “I didn’t _intend_ it. Not today, not last time we were together, it just… I don’t know how to stop hurting you. I don’t know how to be other than I am.” Bucky licked his lips. “I’m ruthless. You knew that before we ended up in bed. It wasn’t a deterrent before…” 

Likely, this was the crux of their problems. The fact that Bucky was a creature of survival, born to fight and forged in fire. He had forgotten that not every conflict was a battlefield. Not every win had to mean his opponent’s death, or humiliation.

Steve’s eyes softened.

“It’s not your fault.” Steve’s pink lips twisted in a grimace. “No, it’s definitely your fault, but I understand _why_. That doesn’t make _this_ okay. You can’t just… Just make me do whatever you want!”

It was as if Steve had fixated on his refusal and would not budge an inch, as if Bucky coming here and offering meant nothing.

“If you do want to bond with me, what will waiting another cycle or ten change? Or will you actually consider breaking off with me?”

“No, god, Bucky no,” Steve said desperately, coming closer again. “Is that what this is about? You think I would…change my mind?”

Why did Steve have to ask that question? Bucky said in the plainest terms why he was here, why he had offered the bond. Steve didn’t want that answer, didn’t seem to want the bond at all. Steve wanted to wait, wait for what? For some arbitrary person to declare the time was right? Bucky had no idea. The only thing he was sure of was that Steve was saying no. It made him angry, angry and hurt because Steve had promised him he wanted him.

“It’s not my decision that’s in question here,” Bucky reminded mildly.

“Stop turning this back on me!” Steve shouted, his anger back as fast as it had gone away. “Answer the damn question!”

“Of course yes. I don’t change my mind,” Bucky said 

“So why do you think that I will?!”

“Because it’s been weeks and you still haven’t managed to make a decision. And while this still hangs over us, you merrily plan to skip away with S.H.I.E.L.D., no fucking backup in sight.”

“Oh, Bucky,” Steve said quietly, his face scrunched with emotions Bucky didn’t recognize. Moving carefully, he sat down at Bucky’s side again and took his hand. “Pretty, listen to me, there’s no choice for me. It’s you. Our going slow isn’t me deciding when to say no. I never meant you to think that.”

That was fair, Steve had already said no.

“You want to wait longer? Wait out more cycles? Okay, fine, you can do whatever you want and damn what I want.” 

“And what you want is to be off suppressants?” Steve asked, exasperated and that was better than angry.

“It’s not like suppressants do all that much for me. They stop me going into heat, but my body still hovers at the edge of it. I took a shit-ton of the stuff for decades. Things that had horrifying side effects, all because my Alphas wanted me to take them. I hate taking them, I hate poisoning my body so that Alphas had more control and a clearer mind. They should deal with their own shit, just like I deal with mine.”

The softness in Steve’s eyes was hardening.

“So do what you like, regardless of the effect it might have on me?”

“Better the effect it has on me? It’s perfectly okay for _me_ to load my body up with god knows how many chemicals for god knows how long, because you need me to? Because my heats aren’t something you want to see? Because they’ll force you to do something? When did it became my responsibility to provide you with your self-control? When did my body became common property again, where everybody and their aunt can tell me what I can and cannot do with it?”

“If I could load _myself_ up, I would,” Steve snapped. “They don’t make suppressants for rut!”

“If I went to get loaded up on suppressants now, how long would you make me take them? A month? A year? Ten years? Is there even a time frame you have in mind? When will it be okay for me to make my own decisions again? Or is that only you can make the decisions?”

“You can’t ignore that your decisions affect others!” Steve shouted, “Not that you’re letting me have a choice in the matter!”

“You have _all_ the choice, Steve. You always had it. It’s my decisions that are always in question.”

“That is fucking _bullshit_ and you know it,” Steve growled. “I can’t _stop_ this any other way. I’ve _told_ you how much I hate it. I’ve told you, but you. Fuck, Bucky. This is so far from okay.” Steve’s jaw tightened. “Fine, you want to do this to me? Fine. Do it. Make me suffer like they’ve made you.”

“I don’t want to make you suffer, Steve.” Bucky said tiredly. “I don't want to be on suppressants. What am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know!” Steve shouted again before visibly reigning himself back in. “I don’t have all the answers. If you hadn’t just _done_ this, we could have talked about it. Figured something out we could both live with instead of you,” Steve waved a hand, grasping for words, “blaming me for my biology.”

“No, I’m blaming you for being careless with your safety,” Bucky said fiercely, unable to forget how easily Steve was willing to just throw his life away at the slightest provocation, “I am blaming you for being careless with my instincts. You think I should be careful of your Alpha instincts, you tell me how compatibility is so important, while you rub all over another compatible Omega right under my nose. I can’t be friends with Stark, I want to kill him every time I see him because he reeks of you. And then you expect me to sit here and like it when you go away for, what? Days? Weeks? On missions with _them_? Newsflash Steve, jealousy works both ways. So I forced a confrontation. Yes, it is my fault. I want it. You want it. There’s no need to wait. Besides, I will not lose you. Not to other Omegas, not to S.H.I.E.L.D., and not to anyone hiding behind S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Steve’s lips curled back from his teeth and he yanked his hand from Bucky’s.

“What I think, is that your emotions and mine should be equal. That you shouldn’t force me to do things, just like I shouldn’t force you. You have a problem with Stark? Now? After I _asked_ you if it was a problem? You want to lose me, Bucky? This is how you do it. If you’re worried about my missions, or thinking I’m careless, you talk to me. You trust me. You don’t push me into a corner and demand I concede, and you sure as hell don’t manipulate me to bond with you because you’re scared.”

Bucky stared at Steve, at how angry he was, how hurt. He didn’t understand. He wanted Steve, wanted to bond with him, wanted that connection. Steve, it seemed, saw the offer as some kind of… He had no idea what. Rape, maybe? 

It was as if Bucky couldn’t offer him the bond, that Bucky’s heats were wrong. It was as if Bucky wasn’t acceptable to Steve as he was. That he wanted the bond wasn’t enough, that he wanted Steve wasn’t enough, his reasons for wanting it now, not later, _weren’t enough_. Whatever Bucky did would never be enough. Not when his heats that were such a large part of who he was now. They dictated how he acted more often than not. 

When he’d chosen to go off the suppressants, Bucky had known Steve would get angry, but he had hoped Steve would understand that Bucky wanted this too. Ultimately, it seemed they wanted different things, or maybe just in different ways, but Bucky didn’t understand that either. 

If having Steve required Bucky changing absolutely everything about himself…maybe he did need more time to reconsider. Reconsider if he was up for hiding himself, playing a part just to please his Alpha. What terrified him, was that some small part of him was already pushing at him to do it, because it would give him Steve.

He exhaled loudly, rolling off the bed. He was on the wrong side of it, Steve and the bed separating him from the door. Deep down, under the reflexive anger from the rut, Bucky knew Steve wasn’t trying to hurt him, that he would never do it on purpose. No matter what they said now during this argument, Bucky knew it was just an argument. Steve didn’t understand him, Bucky didn't understand Steve. He just wanted Steve to take him on his word, accept his decision as it was without asking that damned question ‘why’.

“I’ll take the pills,” Bucky said quietly, reeling from the repeated rejection, from the dawning fact that Steve had some kind of standard that Bucky was constantly unable to live up to. “I wouldn’t for anybody but you, just so you know,” he offered, a desperate attempt to salvage something, give Steve something to be pleased about. “I won’t talk about the missions anymore, either.”

“Missions? Bucky, Jesus,” Steve shoved both hands through his hair, “That’s not, that’s not what I was saying. I’m saying, if you’re only worried about my safety, about me going on missions without you, or losing me, or going off the suppressants, we can work that out. You can talk to me, if something’s bothering you, you don’t have to… You don’t _have_ to bond with me. You don’t ever have to… There are other ways, we just gotta talk about it.”

“It’s not some kind of torture,” Bucky snapped. “I hate the suppressants and I wanted the bond. You seem to think I’m, I don't know, raping you or something. So fine, you win. I am _sorry_ .” 

Bucky started moving around the bed, feeling the urge to get away, go to a safe space to lick his wounds in private. 

“Bucky, it’s not a _competition_ ,” Steve said, moving into Bucky’s way, keeping him in the room, “Christ, Buck. I don’t think you’re raping me, I’m afraid _I’m_ going to rape you.”

“It’s like living in another universe, or something,” Bucky grumbled, then shrugged. “The last Alpha they put into my cell, I relieved of his intestines while he was still alive, and used them to write out messages to the guards outside the barrier. Since I see a distinct lack of blood on you, I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“And half the time, when you tell me things, I don’t understand,” Steve said, but calming his tone, putting visible effort into it. Bucky had invested too much into Steve to continue trying to leave when Steve was talking. So he stayed, even if it hurt to do so. “That’s why I need…to _know_. I can’t just assume with you and you shouldn’t with me. Please, just…talk to me.”

“I did,” Bucky snarled. “I talked a whole lot, I tell you I want to bond, you ask why _now_. I tell you why and you say it’s not enough. That my reasons are not enough.” Bucky spread out his hands surrendering when all he wanted to do was attack, to rip into Steve for rejecting him like this. He didn’t, because unlike Steve, he accepted Steve the way he was, even his need to control everything and make decisions for Bucky. “Sorry, I don’t have anything else to say to convince you.” 

“Tell me again,” Steve pressed, “Tell me again and again and _make me_ understand, Bucky. Don’t give up on me. Why do you want to bond with me?”

Bucky growled; god he _hated_ that question.

“Why do other people want to permanently bond?! They either want, or they don’t!”

“I’m not other people!” Steve said insistently, “I’m the one you’re talking to. For Christ’s sake, Buck, stop quitting on me. You know I don’t understand, _I_ know I never understand, at least fucking trust me to know what I need to know. Spell it out for me.”

“What do you want me to say?” Bucky shouted back, feeling cornered and angry. “I want the bond. I want it, and I want you, and I’m not changing my mind. What else do you want me to say? You don’t want it, at least not with me. You don’t want _me_. Not the way I am. You don’t want me here, now. You don't want my heats, or my changed biology, and you don’t want my reasons. And you want me to take the damn pills so I’m going to take the damn pills. So you won’t have to smell my heats or be in rut again.”

“I never said _any_ of that!” Steve said, his voice rising, hand slashing through the air. “I told you I want you. How many times do I have to tell you that? All I’ve wanted was to know _why_ , and if it’s not fear, if it’s something else, and it’s so hard to tell me…”

“Yeah, you say that,” Bucky interrupted, shouting over him, “but then push me away each time I tried to offer you the bond. It’s like you’re nodding your head while _saying_ no!”

“Is it the only way to make you see I want you?” Steve asked, his voice pleading. “Is saying yes the only way you’ll believe me? Christ, I want you so bad. I do, I’m just so scared I’ll hurt you again. I can’t live with that. I can’t.”

Bucky frowned at him again.

“When did you hurt me?”

Steve flinched.

“You want the list?”

“Yes,” Bucky said trying to come up with a single case of Steve harming him in any way.

Looking at the ceiling, Steve nodded.

“When I broke my promise not to bond you, when I made you think I didn’t want you because I wasn’t touching you, that whole thing with Michael, and apparently Tony and Natasha and the pack, now because I’ve still made you think I don’t want you, when you thought you should push yourself to take that damned dance class. Dum Dum and Gabe…”

The man was seriously not bnormal. Who kept a list of ordinary stupid shit that happened? Bucky had forgotten those events as fast as they had happened. The temporary bond, who did it hurt? Truth was, Bucky barely even felt it. Steve had hurt himself with that one; Bucky hadn’t played any part in that drama. Michael, how in the hell could Steve hurt him with that? Two dumber-than-shit Alpas had decided to have a growling match in his apartment. Frankly, Bucky had been a second away from pounding the both of them into the ground. Then Steve had showed his fucking throat, which had made Bucky angry for some unfathomable reason. He had had nothing against dancing, the Alphas there were an unpleasant surprise, but broccoli in soup was also an unpleasant surprise, and Bucky didn’t cry about it in his sleep. He was starting to suspect Steve was neurotic or something. It wasn't like those moments even mattered at all. 

No wonder Bucky couldn't understand Steve. Steve might as well speak in A foreign language for all Bucky understood him. Whatever Bucky did, only made Steve either angry or hurt, never happy. It seemed like the perfect time to go and lick his wounds in private. And take the damn pills, since they mattered so much, but Steve was still standing in his way.

“When did you do something to consciously, deliberately hurt me?”

“I didn’t,” Steve said quickly, earnest sincerity in his eyes, “but that’s why I’m afraid, Bucky. I don’t… We miscommunicate like this, and I always fuck it up, and you… I hate hurting you. I just want to be sure that I won’t, not with something _this_ important, this serious. Is that so wrong?”

“Let me get this straight. You being afraid is a perfectly valid reason. Me being afraid is not?” 

Steve’s teeth snapped shut and he stared at Bucky with wide eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter than Bucky had ever heard it before.

“From where I’m standing, you’re perfectly justified with everything you’ve done. It doesn’t matter what it does to me, it doesn’t matter what I want, you won’t believe it anyway. I want to understand why you want this, why now, before I say yes.” Steve’s voice began to rise again. “I can hardly think straight, but I know last time you told me _never_ and now it’s yes, and I want it, and I _will_ not hurt you again. Would you really rather I just gave in?” Steve huffed and looked away. “I imagine you would, then you’d never have to explain.”

Bucky shook his head, deciding to let this go. He was long used to the fact he would have to compromise on things he wanted to get something else. 

“I’m here. I’m still here, regardless of whatever perceived pain, or not, you’ve unleashed on me, and I’m not sending you away. That’s the only thing that hurts me. You telling me over and over that my way is wrong, what I want is bad.”

Steve pressed both his hands to the sides of his head.

“What you want isn’t bad. I never said,” he cut himself off, hands dropping to his sides again before he looked up at Bucky. “You didn’t answer my question. Whether bonding is the only way to let you know I want you. If I tell you, if I tell you I want to bond with you because I want to know you, I want to be able to give you everything you want, to take care of you, if you’ll let me. Will you believe me?” He took a step closer, and Bucky tilted his head back, surrendering if Steve would just let him. “You’re not bad, and what you want isn’t bad, but doing it this way? This… We can get past this. I want to because I love you. I want _you_ because I love you.”

Bucky couldn’t believe Steve anymore. Not when he kept repeating he wanted the bond, but kept ignoring his responses. He’d told Steve he wanted it. Did Steve think he was so stupid as not to understand what he was offering when he came here? He wasn’t a child experiencing his first heat. He knew what a bond meant, knew it so much bigger than the two of them. Bucky tamped down on the hurt and anger he was feeling, careful now not to unleash it. He didn’t want to turn this confrontation into a bloodbath, even if it felt like they were hovering on the edge of it.

“Yes, that sums it up quite well. Isn’t that why anybody would want to tie their life to another person? You tell me my way isn’t bad, but it’s not what _you_ want either. I have no idea what you want to do besides all the things I’ve done already. I let you _in_ , I told you I wanted you when I hadn’t said those words in more than eighty years, to _anyone_.” Bucky shook his head. “You...need...me to talk about, I don't know, what I’m feeling? But I mostly feel anger. I can’t… I don’t know how to say things the correct way.”

“Wait, wait,” Steve was swallowing had, the hand he lifted between them visibly shaking. “Are you saying, when you say ‘I want you’, you’re saying I love you?”

“If it’s what you said, yeah,” Bucky sighed. “I have been repeating this to you for weeks. I want you, when I generally abhor human beings as a whole.”

“You’ve been saying it since you got back,” Steve corrected, his expression suddenly lost and confused and Bucky _didn’t understand_ , and he was so tired of that.

“Yes,” Bucky repeated, “but you wanted the dates and things, so I did them. Michael told me to grovel, and grovel a lot, so I did that. None of it…worked. His advice seems to be as shit as always,” Bucky grumbled, more to himself than Steve. He was going to break into Michael’s apartment and replace all his booze with vinegar.

“No, no, _Bucky_ ,” Steve was abruptly smiling, vibrating out of his skin. He closed the last of the distance between them and caught Bucky’s shoulders. “I didn’t _know_. I had no idea. Pretty, oh, I’m so sorry. All this time, I didn’t understand. Everything I did...”

Bucky stared at Steve warily. He always changed his mind too fast for Bucky to follow. Believing that smile, or trying to push for what he wanted, was reckless. Bucky stayed still instead, watching and attempting to understand what Steve was so excited about.

“What didn’t you know?” he asked finally, not understanding a lick of this sudden change.

“What you were saying when you said you wanted me,” Steve said, his voice suddenly pitched low and inviting. “Do you still? Tell me one more time?”

Bucky eyed Steve suspiciously.

“Are there conditions?” he asked finally, figuring better safe than sorry.

Steve’s gaze softened, taking his hands from Bucky’s shoulders to frame his face with his hands as he shook his head.

“No conditions.”

“You’re absolutely sure? No suppressants, or other shit?” Bucky questioned, unwilling to fall into that trap again.

“None,” Steve said firmly and Bucky suspected he’d answer as many times as he was asked. “No conditions, just…tell me again. I want to hear it, now that I know.”

“I want you,” Bucky repeated, still wary, still expecting to be told it was bad, wrong, somehow, that Bucky wasn’t enough anyway.

Steve bit his lip, eyes going dark as he pulled Bucky in tight against his chest with one arm about his waist, the other cupping his jaw still.

“I think it started back at the Three Sisters,” Bucky said, watching Steve’s face carefully, his eyes, the way his pupils dilated. “When you sassed me back, but didn’t try to enforce your status. And you gave me SIC position. I noticed.”

“Of course you did,” Steve murmured, “I was afraid if I said it, if I told you I loved you, it would scare you off, but I tried. When I told you I couldn’t help myself. Couldn’t stop touching you…” Steve’s gaze flicked to Bucky’s lips and back. “Let me prove it? You don’t have to believe me. I understand, I know what you need, let me prove it?”

Bucky tilted his body into that touch. He liked it, liked it a lot, and Steve was always so stingy with it.

“How?” 

Steve’s voice dropped even lower as he said, “Let me take you to your room? Let me take you to bed, Buck. Help me through this, let me help you, let me,” his fingers trailed from his jaw, down his throat, and wrapped around his neck beneath his ear, where Steve would bite him to form the bond, “Let me make you mine.”

“My room because I need to take the pills?” Bucky asked, just to be sure. Steve had never fixated on wanting Bucky’s heat so strongly before… It was too good to be true, and he needed to hear him say it.

Shaking his head, Steve leaned closer, pupils so dilated there was hardly any blue left.

“No pills,” Steve promised, “JARVIS is all over my room, recording, and I don’t want to have you thinking about that, about him, when I bond with you.”

Bucky closed his eyes, tilting his body towards Steve, letting the Alpha take his weight. Steve did so easily, willingly, sliding his hands to Bucky’s hips and taking hold there, pulling Bucky closer. 

“I’d like that,” Bucky breathed against Steve's lips. 

Now that he was giving in, that they were both giving in, Bucky let loose some of the control he’d wound so tight about himself. Let himself feel how hot he was, how good he smelled. It stroked his own heat, stroked the fire low in his belly and beneath his skin. He tilted his head to kiss Steve, to press his lips against Steve’s. He wanted to taste him, to be close and he could. He could let go and Steve would catch him.

Bucky whined, just barely, under his breath, needing Steve to close that last distance. The low, possessive growl that drew from Steve went straight through Bucky, made his knees weak, and pulled another whine from his throat. Bucky hated it, hated that he was making that sound, but it was such a release, such a wonderful release he couldn’t help himself. He whined again, Steve’s fingers digging into his hips at the sound, and it felt so goddamn good. It wasn’t fair. Wasn’t fair that Steve could do this to him. No, that his _body_ did this to him. Steve… Steve made it better.

“Shh, I’m here,” Steve promised, a growl in his voice, their lips brushing with every syllable, “I’ll take care of you, pretty.” 

It was a millimeter’s distance to close, but to Bucky felt it like so much further before Steve’s lips were on his. Bucky’s parted, giving way to Steve’s tongue, as his body melted against all that solid Alpha strength. Another growl rippled from Steve’s chest the more Bucky submitted, the more confident, the more _Alpha_ Steve let himself be. Stepping in to fill the space only once Bucky surrendered it.

Clutching at Steve’s shirt, he heard fabric tear and felt Steve’s huff of laughter more than he heard it. Then there was no more cloth under his hands, just miles of smooth skin and hard muscle, and the fire inside him grew hotter. He whined, unable to touch enough, to feel enough, as the ache started inside him again. 

“God, you’re burning up,” Steve gasped, pulling back. One hand remained on Bucky’s hips, holding them together, while the other dove down the back of his pants. “Gonna be wet for me this time, pretty?”

Bucky’s whine was louder as his body obeyed Steve’s voice, his glands opening up so that slick gushed to moisten his hole even as Steve’s searching fingers pressed between his cheeks and against him. It was ridiculous, how quickly his body was already responding, already preparing for Steve. How all Bucky could do was burn, sweat beading on his forehead, and ache. How that ache would grow the longer he went without being filled, until he’d do anything, anything to make it stop.

“You’re getting wet already,” Steve moaned, “Gotta…fuck…get outta here.”

Whimpering as Steve’s fingers left his hole, hating that sound more than his whine, Bucky made no effort to stop Steve as he grabbed one cheek, dropped his other hand to the other, and lifted. Bucky’s legs acted of their own accord, wrapping tightly around Steve’s trim waist, thighs snug over his hips so that Steve was hardly holding him up at all.

“Fuck, you’re incredible,” Steve swore, squeezing Bucky’s ass and finally heading towards the door. 

All they had to do was make it to Bucky’s room, except, in the hallway, Steve stopped again, eyes wide. 

“Bucky?” he said, alarmed and Bucky whined again at the sound. “Do you need me, or want me, to get you birth control?”

The question would have gone over his head, but Bucky could see the panic growing in the Alpha’s eyes, and he yanked his mind from where it had fallen when he’d given in to the heat hormones.

“I can’t, should be on my file.” Bucky answered briskly. Steve’s blue eyes turned sad and Bucky growled, digging his heels into the small of his back so he winced instead. “You better not be about to stop.”

“No, no, no,” Steve said quickly, “Mine. I don’t care, I just. I’m sorry, Bucky. We’ll…” Bucky ducked his head, scraping his teeth over Steve’s scent glands and the Alpha stumbled though he’d been standing still. “We’ll talk about it later.”

Humming his approval, Bucky licked at abused skin, and felt as well as heard, the moan it drew from Steve’s throat. He smiled, before he let himself slip again, because Steve was all but running towards the elevator. Steve really was going to prove himself. Hopefully, over and over.


	27. Chapter 27

They managed to get to Bucky’s room without tearing each other’s clothes off, so Bucky counted it a success. However, they barely managed to close the door before Steve was on him and, damn, but the Alpha wasn’t fucking around this time. Steve slammed him against the nearest wall and didn’t even try to take off Bucky’s shirt, just got a good grip on the neckline and ripped it open as if it were made of tissue instead of cotton. Bucky’s heart skittered sideways, the casual display of strength speaking to his basest instincts, and leaving him stunned for half a breath.

Steve wasn't about to stop kissing him, using the way Bucky opened his mouth to speak to push his tongue inside. It was graceless, almost violent, Steve simulating the act of fucking rather than kissing. Bucky surrendered to it, clinging to Steve’s shoulders, as it was making him weak in the knees. Steve’s hands were grasping, rubbing over his chest, fingers catching on his hardened nipples and twisting them, sending little shocks of pleasure straight to Bucky’s cock. He was so hard already, jeans and underwear pressing against him too roughly, too tightly.

When Steve pulled away to mouth at his throat, at his scent glands where he’d leave the mating bite, Bucky could finally gasp, “Bedroom.” He couldn’t move beyond arching his chest, pushing his pecs into those warm, big hands to be mauled some more.

“Yes, bedroom, good,” Steve said, disjointed. Like Bucky, he’d given into his hormones, let them take over his mind, leaving him aching and wanting. At least, Bucky assumed so. _He_ ached, inside, behind his pelvis. The heat was burning beneath his skin, making it hard to breathe, and beading his skin with sweat. The slick hadn’t stopped flowing, not since Steve touched him, and his thighs were a mess, the pants sticking to his skin.

Yanking Bucky away from the door, Steve didn’t let him go, as he backed him down the hallway, at the same time stuffing his hand down Bucky’s pants and pressing his finger between the obscenely wet cheeks to rub roughly at the already-swollen, sensitive and leaking hole. Bucky stumbled, uncoordinated, trying to press back against Steve’s fingers even as they walked. The arm about his waist was all that kept him up, though Bucky couldn’t say how Steve saw to guide them into his room, since his lips never left Bucky’s throat, his jaw, his lips. Bucky was moaning roughly, right into Steve’s mouth.

They crashed against the door, then practically fell through it when Steve fumbled for the handle and twisted it open. The hand on his ass was all that kept him up this time, Steve moaning as his fingers caught on the rim of Bucky’s hole, strong and rough and there. Bucky _whined_ , needing something, _anything_ inside him, filling him, and needing it _now_ pants and shoes be damned. He tried to walk and arch his ass back into those fingers, but Steve just pressed and rubbed, but didn’t push inside.

Growling, the sound tearing through the room, Steve lifted him bodily and threw him on the bed, impatient with their fumbling. Bucky gasped, bouncing on the mattress, stunned by the raw display of strength, but had only a moment to think, “Yes,” before Steve was on him again. His hands yanked at his jeans, tearing the button clear off and ripping the zipper out in his haste. Steve wasn’t gentle, meaning to pull the jeans off along with Bucky’s boots in one go. The boots were only half laced, but the resistance was hard enough Steve had to yank once, twice, Bucky staring mesmerised at the way his biceps flexed and his pecs strained with each tug. He felt completely disinclined to help, content staring at the strength his Alpha had put on display. On the third yank Steve managed to get everything off, but it was so powerful Steve stumbled back as the pants flew from his hand, Bucky’s shoes flinging to the side. It pulled Bucky half off the bed, his legs hitting the wooden floor.

Bucky was totally, completely naked now, his legs splayed wide, cock standing up, wet and ready, wide-spread thighs slick with lube. Steve stared down at him, blue eyes lost in the black of his pupils, licking his lips as he clawed at his own shirt, ripping it off the same as he’d done Bucky’s. 

It was unfair, Bucky thought, that he was already naked and Steve still had layers hiding his cock behind blue jeans and underwear. He’d just have to give the Alpha more incentive. Rolling to his stomach, Bucky got his knees under himself, braced on the edge of the bed and crawled, low on the covers, to the middle of the bed. He kept his legs parted, showing off how wet he was, how the slick all but dripped out of him. Showing how easy it would be for Steve to just stick his cock inside, push the wide blunt head past the swollen little ring of muscle and fuck Bucky

Another whine left him, the image, the thought, too much to stand when it wasn’t happening.

“Jesus Christ, Bucky, you… Shit, you look so wet, so fucking _wet_ for me,” he heard Steve gasp, followed by the sounds of tearing fabric.

The mattress dipped, Steve’s hand catching the back of his neck and shoving him onto the bed. Bucky went down easy, flattening his chest to the mattress, turning his face to the side, but keeping his knees under him, the position arching his ass into the air even more, right into Steve’s hovering body. The hand stayed on his neck, holding him down, another pushing at his thighs, forcing them wider, spreading Bucky open for Steve to see. 

“Bruise me,” Bucky blurted as Steve’s fingers travelled up his thighs, trailing through the slick, teasing over his hole. God, he was so wet already, so ready and so damned eager for Steve’s cock, it wasn’t even funny.

“What?” Steve gasped, going still for a heartbeat. Then he was leaning over Bucky, replacing the weight of his hand with his whole body along Bucky’s back. His hard cock rested atop Bucky’s ass and, Jesus, but Bucky wanted that cock, wanted it to stretch him open. He wanted _Steve_ inside him so badly, even more slick gushed out of him at the thought that he was going to get it hard any second now. As much as Bucky would never admit it out loud he loved it, absolutely loved that first moment of penetration, the shock to his senses, the fierce sense of fullness. 

That love always made him conflicted. He loved getting fucked, but hated most of the people that did it. Steve was different, though. Steve didn’t feel like a threat. He was good; good for him. Steve made him feel better than Bucky ever had, better than he had with anybody else. And Bucky wanted him with a violent, burning need that was making him breathless.

He shook his head to clear the haze of desire off and twisted to look back at his Alpha. Steve looked dazed, flushed with rut and desire, but also mulishly stubborn.

“Mark me,” Bucky pleaded. “With your hands.”

“Bucky,” Steve said, hesitant even as the hand on his neck tightened, fingers digging into the skin and muscle.

“They always made it completely painless,” Bucky gasped. Talking was hard, doing anything but whining helplessly for Steve’s cock was a struggle, but this was important. He _wanted_ it. “That’s why I liked it with you so much, before, when you made me so oversensitive I cried. I liked that edge of pain, liked that it reminded me with each move you made that I wasn’t _there_ anymore.” 

Steve’s grip tightened, one hand closing on his hip and Bucky moaned. Teeth scraped over the side of his neck, under his ear, and Bucky shuddered. Knees knocked against his, spreading him out wide, and Steve rocked, making short, aborted thrusts against Bucky’s ass. His cock dripped precome, the drops running down Bucky’s cleft, mixing with his slick. Bucky’s skin was on fire where Steve’s cock brushed, slipping down Bucky’s ass, rubbing briefly over his swollen hole, making him gasp. It kept going, lower, to bump into Bucky’s tightened balls.

“Good?” Steve managed to gasp, his hand closed so hard over Bucky’s hip it was surely leaving the requested bruises.

“Hard,” Bucky groaned out, trying to helplessly spread his knees even more. “Fuck me as hard as you can,” Bucky’s breath hitched, “Please, Alpha.”

Another growl, possessive and satisfied, tore through the room, and Bucky thought that probably meant fulfilling his request wasn’t going to be a problem. The hand on his neck left, but Bucky didn’t try to sit up. Which was good, as when he felt the blunt, hot head of Steve’s cock press lightly against his hole he would have fallen again. That brush was the only warning, the Alpha not even granting a second for Bucky to brace himself as he flexed his hips and fucked in. All the way in, not pausing to let Bucky get used to the stretch, to the fullness and length. It was just one long, powerful thrust, from that first punch of the head breaching his hole to the moment Steve bottomed out completely, pressed so tightly against Bucky’s ass that his balls were resting against Bucky’s.

Bucky yelled. It hurt, the sudden penetration, the way Steve’s large - oh god, so large - perfect cock rearranged him inside. As if Bucky wasn’t anything but a hole to take that cock. Bucky didn’t even manage to get his breath before Steve was pulling out. Out and out until the head popped free and Bucky whined, fisting his hands in the sheets and doing his best to lift his ass to make it easier for Steve to do it again. 

And god dammit, but Steve did. Harder this time, pushing in to the hilt with a thrust so powerful it forced Bucky forward on the bed, the sheets rubbing against his cheek, his defenseless nipples, making them burn. Bucky’s swollen cock slapped against his own stomach uselessly, and he gasped helplessly again. 

“Gonna fuck you so good, Bucky, so damned good,” Steve was mumbling, his words lost in a continuous growl, as he thrust in. It was just as hard, Bucky’s body bouncing up the mattress. He clawed at the sheets, the heat under his skin flaring even as the ache inside him faded. This was what he had needed, what he wanted, to be filled, to be claimed, Steve’s hands on his hips, and his cock buried in Bucky’s body. 

Except he was pulling completely out again, making Bucky whine as he was no longer filled, no longer feeling that stretch the undeniable presence inside him. 

“Please,” he begged, breathless and soft he feared Steve didn’t hear.

But Steve did, pushing back in, deep, filling him up, and then pulling out completely, letting his cock, wet and slick from Bucky’s own fluids, slap obscenely against Bucky’s thighs. Whining, fisting the bed clothes, Bucky thrust his ass back at him. Steve waited, long enough that Bucky felt the burn of his hole trying to close on nothing, before he ruthlessly pushed in again. Pushed back up the bed, Bucky saw white as the thrust punched the very breath from his lungs. 

Feeling that cock so deep inside him again when Steve’s hips smacked into his ass, the heat and weight and stretch everywhere, Bucky couldn’t almost stand how good it felt. Nothing had felt so absolutely perfect. He clenched down hard on the cock inside him, making short, sharp, breathless whimpers as he came untouched, just from Steve fucking him, his cock jerking and shooting come over his belly and the sheets.

Steve must have been waiting for Bucky to come undone on his cock. He curled over Bucky’s back, fitting his teeth over his nape, but not biting down. Growling, he let go, following his instincts and not pulling out, just fucking into Bucky. His hips jackhammered in short, sharp thrusts, even as Bucky was spasming from his orgasm, pushing whatever breath he had managed to regain back out again. Bucky whined, tilting his head down, giving Steve space, giving him whatever he wanted, so long as he didn’t stop. 

Steve didn’t, he fucked Bucky recklessly, confusing Bucky’s body. Instead of coming down from his orgasm, he was climbing towards another, his cock caught between softening and hardening. Bucky heard wet squelches each time Steve pushed in, displacing so much slick it slid down his thighs in thick rivulets.

“Bucky, fuck, so wet,” Steve was growling against Bucky’s neck. “So fucking tight. Hot, god, pretty, so good. You’re so good.”

Bucky arched his ass as best as he could, trying to meet those sharp, short thrusts, wanting to feel Steve swell inside him, and that hot splash of come. Instead, Steve was suddenly moving, jerking himself away from Bucky’s neck, from his back, from his ass, pulling out of Bucky _again_.

Bucky whined, helpless and empty, feeling his hole burning so sweet, clench down on nothing once more.

“Steve,” he cried out, “Please, oh, Steve _please_.”

A hand on his hip dug in, then pulled, flipping him effortlessly onto his back. Steve bullied his way back between Bucky’s legs, pulling them around his hips so that his thighs squeezed the trim waist. Kneeling over Bucky, Steve pushed his hair out of his face, then smoothed his fingers down his jaw, his throat. Bucky arched his neck, whining, begging for Steve to fuck him again. Take whatever it was he wanted.

“Steve,” Bucky begged, “come inside me. Make me feel it.”

Steve growled, the hand caressing him closing about his throat and holding on as Steve pressed the head of his cock back against Bucky’s hole. His eyes were bright and intense, focused on Bucky’s face. His expression intense, the hand about his throat holding his head so he couldn’t turn away from those eyes.

“Gonna lock us together like this,” Steve said, his voice more of a growl than words, “So I can see you. I didn’t get to see you before. Gonna watch you come undone this time, Buck. Can I? Watch you when my knot stretches you, when it's time to bond, as I breed you. I want to watch, Buck.”

Bucky tossed his head, arching his back, pushing out his chest and cock towards Steve.

“Yes, yes, please,” he begged, so focused on that heated, wet place between his legs, aching so badly for Steve to fill it.

The muscles in Steve’s torso rippled as he shifted, pushed in so his tip breached Bucky’s hole. He slid in, slow and easy this time, until his entire length was buried inside, making him feel each and every inch, how thick it was, how his body stretched to accommodate it so greedily. The slow stretch, relentless push, made Bucky arch further, lips parting on a soundless cry. 

Steve moaned, leaning down and capturing his lips with hard kiss. Thrusting his tongue inside, he pulled out, but thankfully not completely. Then he pulled back, resting their foreheads together and locking their gazes as he thrust hard into Bucky once more. This time he did cry out, and Steve didn’t stop, pushing into him over and over, hard and fast and deep. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Steve gasped, “So goddamn gorgeous, Buck. Can hardly believe you want me, god, that we’re here.”

At that point, Steve gave up talking. He thrust faster, harder, stealing Bucky breath away, and pushing that heat coiling in Bucky's belly higher and higher. It was hard to breathe, hard to think, all he could do was just moan and gasp on every hard thrust. Bucky’s nose was full of Steve’s scent, his sweat, his pheromones, his rut. Bucky flung his hand down so that he could catch onto Steve’s around his hip, closing down hard. He flung his metal hand back, trying to brace against something, anything, as Steve’s thrusts pushed him up the bed again, as if Bucky were a helpless little thing. Jesus, but he loved that, loved the power of this Alpha, the strength of him, the raw instinct that was making the fire inside Bucky burn him alive.

Steve changed his hold, freeing his hand from Bucky’s as he braced himself against the wall. Steve’s hand wrapped around Bucky’s hard, flushed cock which had been slapping against his belly and getting no stimulation. Bucky yelled out, clenching down on the cock inside him as he came a second time, his thighs locking about Steve’s waist. His whole body arched, eyes clenching shut as he spasmed with each crashing wave of pleasure.

And Steve wasn’t going to stop; his hips still worked, still forced his cock inside Bucky even as Bucky was clenching down on it as hard as he could. This orgasm lasted and lasted, each thrust pulling another fresh spout of come from Bucky’s own cock, making him babble and beg with how strong the sensation was.

“Now,” Steve gasped, “Now, oh god Bucky now. ‘M gonna do it now.”

Bucky’s breath caught as he felt Steve slam in deep, pressing closer, forcing Bucky to spread his legs even further. Steve groaned, his cock twitching once, twice and spurting hot come so far inside Bucky he felt he would burn right out of his skin. It was so intense, so completely perfect.

Even though he was overwhelmed already, his body weak from the two quick orgasms, Bucky tried to keep clenched around Steve, to make it better for him, but oh god the knot was forming. It was swelling fast, rapidly filling Bucky. It was stretching his insides faster than he could adjust, passing fulness and an uncomfortable stretch, bordering on pain. God, it felt so good, so incredibly perfect that Bucky moaned, helplessly, twitching and jerking on the knot until it rested directly against his prostate.

“Bucky, fuck,” Steve cursed as Bucky whined breathlessly, his cock twitching confusedly in Steve’s grasp, poring out precome despite not even being hard anymore. 

Shaking his head hard, Steve released him to wipe the sweat from his brow, then started jerking Bucky off as much as was possible since Bucky was wasn’t hard. Bucky yelled out, twitching and squirming, pinned between the large heavy weight inside his ass - so large and so impossible to even breathe around - and the hand at his neck. He flailed, grabbing onto that hand, needing to hold onto Steve somehow, and shouted.

Steve was ruthless, not even hesitating, his palm sliding slickly over Bucky’s oversensitive cock, jerking him to hardness without a shred of mercy. Bucky loved it, loved him for it, loved how easily Steve pulled him out of his mind, his body. It left him nothing but a creature of pleasure and flesh, riding that edge like Steve was a master, and this wasn’t only his second time.

“Bucky, how… I can’t even… You’re so _tight_.” 

The hand about his neck let go and Steve all but collapsed onto Bucky, pushing the breath out of him. His hips jerked against Bucky’s sloppy hole, forcing that huge knot to move, to fuck, making Bucky shout right into the mouth Steve closed over his own. Even as he claimed Bucky’s mouth, Steve didn’t give Bucky a moment to rest, to catch his breath, his hand working frantically on Bucky’s cock, bringing it to hardness. 

It was too much, the knot in him always, always pushing against his prostate, not ever leaving it, just changing how hard it pressed against him. Bucky lost focus on the hand around his cock, the weight of Steve lying over him, the tongue inside his mouth as he came a third time, sobbing right into Steve. Beneath him, Bucky twitched, without any leverage at all as his cock dribbled, the stream never ending. Tears leaked from his eyes as the orgasm would not end, and Steve was still fucking him, mercilessly dragging his knot over Bucky’s prostate. 

Bucky sobbed as Steve swelled even more. Then he came again, shooting what felt like a never-ending stream of scalding hot come inside him. Mewling, Bucky squirmed and reached up to cling to Steve’s shoulders.

“Can’t stop,” Steve muttered half-unintelligibly against his lips, hips still pumping, “Have to breed you, make you mine. Fill you so full of my knot, my come, you’ll be leaking for days.”

“Steve,” Bucky moaned, trying to speak and kiss at the same time, chasing Steve’s lips mindlessly.

“You are so good, pretty,” Steve gasped, “So tight and so wet. I’m gonna make you feel so good, Bucky. So good,” Steve promised earnestly, his hips still moving in tiny little jerks, tormenting Bucky’s prostate, stretching him so wide, so hard, so goddamned perfectly. “I’m gonna watch you come undone Buck, like this, stretched so far on my knot you can barely remember your name.”

Bucky whined, loud and broken and closed his thighs over Steve’s waist as tightly as he could with the Alpha lying on top of him. With a last sloppy lick at Bucky’s lips, Steve picked himself up, rising to kneel between Bucky's legs once more. The change in position pulled at the the knot inside him, making Bucky moan and lift his lips higher, ensuring they stayed connected. 

“Steve,” he begged, hating they were so far apart now.

His Alpha just shushed him.

“You told me,” Steve said slowly getting a good grip on Bucky’s hips and moving. Not to fuck him, not to follow that primal instinct, but as if he was searching for something. “That if I did it right,” Steve’s voice was tight, strained, his knot so goddamned big inside Bucky, his cock long and filling him so deep, Bucky knew nobody else had or ever would come close. “My knot would rest right against your prostate.”

And Bucky jerked as if electrocuted when Steve found what he was looking for, his cock up against Bucky's prostate in a way that made him feel as if he was at the edge of coming, or that his bladder was full, but it was so strong, so overwhelming, Bucky cried out. Instinctively, he tried to jerk away from the overstimulation, too good, too much… But Steve wasn’t letting him go. His muscles bulged and he sat back on his ankles, pulling Bucky’s hips onto his thighs while keeping that _exact angle_. Bucky cried out again, his eyes rolling back with the pressure, with the pleasure, with the utter control Steve had over him. He tried to twitch away, feebly, but Steve only gripped his hips tighter, leaving bruises for sure.

“No,” Steve said sharply. “Stay like this. Exactly like this.” And god damn it, Steve let go of his hips, Bucky’s ass resting against his thighs. The knot positioned to be the most intensely pleasurable thing in Bucky’s life. “Just like this.”

“Steve,” Bucky sobbed, but obeyed, his muscles trembling and clenching futilely on the huge presence inside him.

“You are so beautiful right now,” Steve said, watching him, cataloging every flush, every bead of sweat, every helpless moan and shiver that wracked Bucky’s body. Steve moved his hands to Bucky’s thighs, unwinding them from his waist and Bucky let him, pliant and helpless as Steve put his palms on Bucky’s trembling thighs and pushed gently.

“Just like that,” Steve encouraged, “spread your legs for me.” 

Steve’s voice was gentle, eyes attentive, but his cock was unyielding, hard inside Bucky. The knot still there, just there, making Bucky’s eyesight blurry with sensation. 

“Let me see how wet you are for me,” Steve’s ordered, growing hoarse as he ran his fingers through the slick smeared on the insides of Bucky’s thighs, gently nudging them open even more.

Bucky sank even deeper onto the hard thing inside him, making everything _more_ intense, making Bucky think he wasn’t going to survive this at all.

“Your hole is so red.” Bucky closed his eyes, so high on sensation he couldn’t even breathe right. “So slick.” And holy god, but Steve was running those hot fingertips over Bucky’s stretched hole, tracing the place where they were connected. Bucky twitched instinctively into the touch, all but fucking himself onto the knot piercing him, and he cried out, gasping like a fish out of water. It felt like an orgasm, like a long, never-ending, horrible-wonderful orgasm, and Bucky couldn’t deal with, his cock dribbling come onto his stomach, making a mess of him. “So stretched, so perfect for me, taking me in so goddamned well, Buck.”

Bucky whined, wanting it to end, wanting more, wanting something, anything, just not this never-ending pressure.

When Steve took his hands from between Bucky’s legs, he thought it would mean relief, an end to this exquisite torture, but it _didn’t_. Steve just moved to his pelvis, petting his cock, not even providing real stimulation, just teasing.Then he dragged hot fingertips over Bucky’s shivering stomach, to his nipples that had stood out hard and peaked ever since his heat had really kicked in. Steve rubbed them gently, making Bucky moan again.

“Steve, please,” he begged in earnest

“Shh, you’ll come soon, I promise,” Steve said gently. “Just like this. Helpless, surrendering so sweetly. So stretched on my knot you’ll be crying with how good it feels, spreading your legs for me because I asked. Right Bucky?” he murmured, rubbing Bucky’s’ hard, sensitive nipples between his thumb and forefinger. 

Bucky tried to shift, to present his chest to Steve, have Steve touch him more, provide more stimulation and break the stalemate that was completely frying his brain. Steve watched him with dark eyes as he switched from gently rubbing, to carefully twisting, sending shocks of, pleasurable pain down Bucky’s chest, straight to his cock, and making him squirm. Making him all but fuck himself onto Steve’s knot, unaware there were tears slipping down his cheeks as he squirmed under Steve’s hands. His Alpha kept pulling at his nipples, steadily harder, confusing his senses, and leaving Bucky out of his mind with _need_.

“Steve, please, oh, Alpha, please,” Bucky begged shamelessly, heedlessly, willingly offering anything, everything, just for this unbearable tension to break.

“Take it,” Steve murmured, sounding distant and awed, “Take whatever you need, Bucky. It’s here for you.”

With a sob Bucky caught both his hands over Steve’s shoulders and pulled himself up so that he was straddling Steve’s thighs. Sinking even further onto that knot drove him half-mad. Steve locked one of his arms over his back, offering leverage, but otherwise still pulling, mauling, _torturing_ Bucky’s nipples.

Helpless, sobbing with need, and want, and how perfect it all was, Bucky raised himself on his knees as far as he could. Up until the knot pulled painfully at his rim, far too big to ever pop out, and slammed himself down, fucking himself onto Steve, onto his cock, and taking what he wanted, as Steve had ordered. He did it once, twice, panting into Steve’s mouth, senses spinning madly between his oversensitive cock, his aching, wonderfully filled ass, and his nipples, burning from the torment. 

Then he came, yelling something unintelligible as his body lost the fight with the tension. He spilled a sad amount of come between them, body seizing with each imposing wave of pleasure. It was only Steve’s tight grip on him that kept him in place, a grip that gentled, releasing his nipples to hold onto his hips..

“Jesus,” Steve moaned, “You are so perfect, so good to me. I love you so damned much.” 

Steve was muttering against his mouth, trying to kiss Bucky, but he was too out of it to do more than gasp for air. 

“Need to,” Steve was gasping and Bucky nodded, not knowing what he was agreeing to, but not caring. Whatever Steve wanted, anything, _everything_ , just so long as he didn’t pull out. So long as he didn’t stop.

One of Steve’s hands remained around his back, the other sliding down to his ass, fingers slipping on all the slick leaking out of Bucky. Finally he got a good, hard grip on Bucky’s butt and raised him as easily, as if Bucky were a stuffed toy. Then he dropped him, just fucking Bucky onto his cock as if it was the easiest thing in the world

As Steve growled random, broken words of praise, Bucky’s mind was scattering under all the sensation. He could feel the unyielding hardness of Steve’s muscles bouncing him up and down.. He could feel the drag of the huge knot inside him, tormenting his already abused prostate. The obscene wet squelch his ass was making at every thrust, come and slick pouring out of him on each perfect, merciless slide filled his ears. He whined high and helpless, clutching weakly at Steve’s shoulders, eyes rolling back into his head. 

How long it lasted, he couldn’t have said. Bucky’s mostly soft cock was trapped between their bellies, rubbing over Steve’s hard muscles and sweat-slick skin, until Steve growled loudly, breathlessly, and fit his mouth over Bucky’s neck. Over his scent glands, and bit down hard enough to break the skin. Bucky was so high, was so out of his mind with pleasure, he didn't even feel the pain of it. 

Some deep, primal instinct took over, making him bare his own teeth and fit them over the place where Steve’s scent was strongest on _his_ neck. Like Steve had, he bit down hard. Bucky didn’t let go when he tasted blood. He growled, worrying at the wound before licking at it all over. He only stopped when he felt something change, like a switch in his brain, a door opening in his mind, and he could _feel_ Steve. Instead of distaste, or duty, Bucky could feel how much Steve wanted him, how the desire wasn’t lessening at all. Feel his awe, his love, his overwhelming pleasure and need. The last orgasm was merely banking the fire, not extinguishing it.

The need burned in him too, even fiercer than before, but it was different now. Deeper, slower. He knew it was the bond, different than the temporary ones he’d had before. So very different.

“Oh, god, _Bucky_ ,” Steve breathed, and Bucky knew he could feel it, too.

And then Bucky could feel it shutting down. _He_ was shutting it down, locking himself away from Steve instinctively. The way Steve’s eyes widened, he could feel it too, feel it fading between them. Fear and rage replaced everything Bucky felt, the emotion, the pleasure, as he looked into Steve’s eyes and knew he would destroy this, was destroying this..

Lifting his knees, Steve brought Bucky closer, clamping his arms down around his back.

“Shh, pretty, it’s okay,” Steve said and Bucky could feel calm, his confidence. There was fear, too, but it was so faint… “Bucky,” Steve said firmly, “It’s okay. I’m not going to stop wanting you. Just calm down, you’re safe. I’ll always want you.”

Bucky swallowed, letting Steve’s calm wash over him and feeling the bond open again. Was that it, then? It couldn’t be that simple.

“Tell me again,” Bucky begged, “Tell me you want me.”

Steve smiled, soft and gentle.

“I want you,” Steve repeated, “ _You_ , Bucky. Bond, or no bond, I want you. I love you.” He shifted, his knot moving within Bucky, and he shuddered. “Only you, pretty.”

Bucky shuddered again and the bond flooded open between them. This time Steve didn’t stop moving, lifting his hips slow and careful, spreading pleasure through Bucky’s entire body. Not fucking him, not pushing either to orgasm, just making love. Making them both feel so damned good. 

Stretching his legs out, Steve slid his hands down his legs, lifting them into the air. When he started to turn Bucky, his eyes widened, but he understood, helping as Steve actually spun him on his dick. Still being careful with Bucky, he rolled them onto their sides and curled around him. His hand smoothed down Bucky’s flank, over his ribs, to his hip and back up again. 

As Steve pressed close, Bucky’s breathing slowed. Steve’s hands caressed him everywhere, slow gentle. Teasing touches that calmed his heart rate, soothed the fire under his skin, but made him all the more aware of the knot _still_ inside him. Persistent, pressing against his prostate, inescapable in how full it left him. Never quite letting Bucky’s body calm, though in heat he knew it never would. Not entirely, not until it had burned itself out. Bucky was used to that, used to being left at this point, alone as the Alphas were through with him.

Steve wasn’t leaving.

“Why?” Bucky asked, tongue feeling thick and clumsy.

“Why what?” Steve asked, nuzzling behind Bucky’s ear.

“Your rut hasn’t ended,” Bucky answered, “It was over by now and wasn’t… Last time, you were done by now.”

Humming, Steve pressed a kiss behind his ear.

“You’re ridiculous,” Steve said, fond warmth flowing through the bond, “Why do you think Alphas go into rut when their Omegas go into heat?” Another kiss pressed to the fresh bite mark on his neck. “So I can help you through it, pretty. So you won’t hurt. My rut will end when your heat does.”

“Oh,” Bucky said, the realization washing through him along with relief.

Steve chuckled.

“No,” he murmured, “I won’t leave you alone. Not ever again, Bucky.”

Bucky _wanted_. He wanted more, more of Steve, his cock, his knot, his come. Everything. He could feel how much Steve wanted him, the desire pushing through the bond loud and clear. Steve was still moving; small, careful thrusts, obviously fighting for control.

And he would be there for Bucky, would fuck him, and touch him, and sate the heat burning him alive.

“Good,” Bucky managed, not understanding the strange fluttery feeling in his chest, but liking it nonetheless, “because I am not…not at all close to done.”

“Bucky,” Steve murmured, nuzzing into his neck and then opening his mouth, setting his teeth against his nape. This bite was not meant to bond them, it was the instinctive demonstration of a dominating Alpha. Bucky should have hated it, reflexively, but he didn’t, not when it was Steve doing it to him.

He bent his head forward, giving Steve space, letting him do as he pleased. Steve moaned deeply and pushed at Bucky until he had Bucky flattened on his belly. Steve still kept his teeth clamped tightly over Bucky’s nape, not breaking the skin, not even hurting, but oh so _there_. Bucky didn’t need any more clues. He shifted, squirmed around Steve’s cock, under his heavy body, until he had his knees halfway under him. 

Steve growled gently around the skin he was biting and shifted, hitching his hips up, jarring the knot inside Bucky and he moaned helplessly, his legs almost giving up. He arched his spine, bowing his head even more, pressing his ass against Steve, letting him know that yes, he wanted it, wanted to be fucked. 

“Do it,” Bucky urged, shifting his knees under him, spreading them, presenting to Steve.

His Alpha growled again, teeth clamping harder on Bucky’s neck. At the same time, he snapped his hips forward, jerking his knot inside Bucky without warning, making him shout into the sheets. Once Steve started, he didn’t stop. He was growling and thrusting, long, powerful jerks that shoved the knot mercilessly inside Bucky. Out then in, pushing the breath out of him. one of Steve’s hands was locked on Bucky’s hip, the other sliding over Bucky’s sweaty belly to his oversensitive cock hanging soft and defenseless between his legs. He wrapped his hand around it, making Bucky lose his breath. His cock was almost painful now, so oversensitive the moment Steve’s hand closed over it made his lungs seize up. it felt so good though, pushing his limits, making him go right out of his head, making him think only of Steve, of that place where they were connected. 

“Going to give it to you,” Steve gasped into his neck, the growl still very much present in his voice. “Going to make you lose it Bucky, I swear to god I will.”

His hips were snapping harder, faster now. Each thrust pushed a hoarse shout of of Bucky, each time the cock pushed in so deep Bucky swore he could feel it in this throat, each time the knot stretched him so ruthlessly deep, pulled at his hole before being pushed back in was almost too much. Steve was determined to make Bucky lose his mind as he started stroking Bucky’s cock slowly, steadily hardening in his grip. Bucky was moaning like a mad creature, ears filled with Steve’s growl, the wet slap of their bodies. His nose was filled with the scent of sex that suffused the room, with the scent of Steve, his rut, his sweat. 

It was so much, the stretch the fullness, the weight of the knot inside him. Bucky was making sharp little noises under Steve’s relentless attention and all Bucky could do was brace himself and shout out when the tension broke, when his body spasmed and jerked, cock twitching violently in Steve’s grip as he came.

Steve wasn’t far behind him, just a single thrust later and he was coming too, his cock pulsing, growing harder, bigger for a moment and spilling inside Bucky again. He moaned weakly, so full, so oversensitive, all but spoiled with it. Steve barely stopped though. His hand started moving again, pulling at Bucky’s soft cock as if it could get hard again.

“Steve, oh god, what...” he moaned as Steve continued to fuck him as if the man hasn’t came just now too. He kept doing it, faster and harder now, making it difficult to breath, hard to think. Bucky fisted his hands in the sheets and grit his teeth so that he wouldn’t be yelling on every single thrust, oh god. He was blind with how it felt, how that stretch that knot moving in him felt. So good, so terrible and Bucky whined like an animal, pressing his head into the bed, arching his ass higher, spreading his knees to make it easier for Steve to jerk his cock. 

Bucky couldn’t breathe, couldn't think, only feel the wet slap of Steve’s balls against his, the harsh, fast thrusts inside him filling him. They sated the need burning him inside out. Bucky was moaning, shouting, begging, but unaware of anything he was saying. There was just Steve and his cock and how utterly and completely the Alpha owned him. 

Soon enough, Bucky’s body gave up, clenching down almost painfully on the huge intrusion inside him as he came again, pleasure swamping his brain, his senses. He was only dimly aware of Steve coming too, of his cock jerking inside Bucky, before everything went black.

Bucky came to as suddenly as he had blacked out, though he didn’t know how much time had passed. Tensing, he moaned at the feeling of Steve’s knot still so deep inside him, still filling him. Steve was spooning him, a long line of heated, smooth skin and hard muscle against Bucky’s back. The Alpha was lapping gently at his neck; small, dry touches that sent shivers down his spine.

“How long?” Bucky asked, his voice raspy and wrecked

“About fifteen minutes,” Steve answered promptly, probably feeling how it unsettled Bucky to check out like he had. “All we’ve done is lie here.”

Bucky tried to get his bearings, to orient himself again, but it was surprisingly difficult. There was still an undeniable heat low in his belly, burning fierce. With full premeditation, Bucky clenched down on the large cock inside him, making Steve gasp quietly.

Teeth scraped along the bond mark and Steve asked quietly, “Ready? Or do you want to wait a minute?”

Bucky shifted his legs, his calves sliding over Steve’s surprisingly hairless legs, bumping over a bony ankle, and twisted his hips in a tiny circle, testing. He gasped at the fierce spark of pleasure that move elicited, and how wet he was. A veritable mess of slick between his thighs. It made him feel even hotter, more turned on by the moment. He had never had it that way, never had it as long as he wanted, as his body needed. Even beyond his enhanced stamina, until the heat was burned out. Never until Steve.

“More,” Bucky rasped, doing his best to rub himself back against Steve, tilting his head to press his lips against Steve’s cheek. “More Steve,” he implored, tensing over the knot again. Pushing Steve to move, to fuck him again. He scraped his teeth over Steve’s jaw and Steve moaned.

“Then more it is,” Steve growled, “Anything you want, pretty you just gotta let me know.”

The first thrust of Steve’s hips was slow and careful. Bucky moaned loudly, his body flaring with a thousand sensations. He was a little sore, having had that knot inside him for a while now, but he loved that burn. It excited him even more, the pleasure sparking wild and fierce. It was gratifying to hear Steve’s breath catch in tandem with him. Steve’s hand closed over his hip, hips starting to thrust more strongly, but no faster.

Bucky groaned; Steve was strong enough he didn't need a lot of leverage to get the job done, no matter what the speed.

“Jesus, Buck, I want you so bad,” Steve gasped. “I want to give it to you, everything you want.” Pulling out, he dragged the knot over Bucky’s insides until it was pulling at Bucky’s swollen rim. Then he slowly pushed back in, scraping over Bucky’s raw prostate and making him arch helplessly, heartbeat going from resting to full sprint in a second. “Wanna make you come again.”

Needing to feel Steve’s mouth on him, Bucky twisted so they could kiss, wet and sloppy. Just lips and tongue, no finesse, as Steve continued to fuck him slow and steady, and so goddamned deep Bucky was losing his mind from wanting it.

Steve’s hand slid from Bucky’s hip to his cock, fingers closing gently over the still-soft, oversensitive flesh and broke the kiss to slap the hand away.

“No,” Bucky gasped, clenching down on the cock inside him hard, “Like this.” He ground his ass back against Steve, moaning helplessly as the knot ground against his prostate. “Just from your cock, nothing else.”

Steve shuddered but took his hand away, fingers clenching almost painfully on Bucky’s hip.

“Yeah,” Steve said, suddenly breathless, the air leaving his lungs harsh and loud, “Yeah, fuck, okay. Longer this way?” 

Bucky exhaled, visualising, thinking. Yeah, he had no leverage in this position, barely any additional stimulation and he was tired. Yeah, it would take longer. Would it be minutes? Hours? Would he be here, trapped under Steve’s powerful, sweaty body for long enough he’d be nothing but raw desire? The thought made something inside him burn, to think of himself so helpless, so willing for this, for Steve and his cock and the orgasm he could give Bucky.

“Yes,” Bucky said his voice like gravel, “exactly like that.”

“Okay,” his Alpha moaned, nuzzling behind his ear and gripping his hips even harder. He might, Bucky thought, actually keep the bruises. “God, just gonna enjoy you. You just… All you gotta do is take it, pretty.”

Bucky’s stomach twisted with uncontrollable want at the words, at the picture it painted, with Steve just using his body until he couldn’t anymore and he moaned helplessly. Steve got a better grip on his hips, working his other hand under Bucky and keeping him still, utterly still as he began moving. He was fucking him in slow, steady thrusts, pulling his cock out enough it teased at Bucky’s oversensitive rim before pushing back in, hard and unrelenting, and so very deep. Bucky was so wet, slick everywhere, it was making sloppy sucking sounds on every thrust. The noise itself brought Bucky higher, knowing the filthy, sexy mess they’d become. 

“You’re still so tight, Buck,” Steve murmured into his ear, making his stomach clench with lust, “and so damn wet. It’s still leaking out of you, my come, but it’s mostly you. Jesus, didn’t know it could be so slick.”

Bucky whined. The slow, sure glide of the head of Steve’s cock followed by the hard, relentless stretch of the knot. The way Steve was panting right into his neck, the words he was saying, the way the Alpha’s body was getting hotter with the exertion, sweatier, how he could feel Steve’s muscles bunching as he strained to keep Bucky in place. It was all driving him wild. Bucky was moaning like a mad creature, the pleasure, the tension, building up so slowly, so agonisingly slowly he knew it would take a long while to come.

“You didn’t need any lube at all,” Steve panted, awed, “and you’re still so tight. How many times have I fucked you? And you’re just as tight, squeezing me so good it doesn’t hurt at all.”

Steve was getting close already, Bucky could feel it in the way he was speeding up and how he was was holding Bucky’s hips harder, digging finger-shaped bruises into his skin, and leaning into Bucky, pressing him forward.

“Want to make you feel so good,” he babbled, “Make it so you can’t think about anything else. Want to see my come leak out of you. Want to make you come apart with pleasure.”

His Alpha was biting at Bucky’s shoulders between words, teeth holding on for a moment before letting go, grunting with each progressively harder thrust. Bucky felt him swell inside him, hot and hard, before he pressed his hips tightly against Bucky’s ass and groaned like a dying man as he spilled himself inside Bucky again.

Bucky whined, tension coiling high in his belly, but nowhere high enough for him to come. Only now was his cock starting to get hard, and Steve didn’t stop, was thrusting into him slow and steady even as his come spurted deep inside.

“Steve,” he whimpered, clenching down on Steve’s cock, grinding his ass against his Alpha and the knot stretching him, filling him, keeping all that come inside him.

“Yes,” Steve said dazedly, lost in the heat and the want and the smell of sex that clung to their bodies, “Yes, I’ll give you whatever you want.”

Letting go of Bucky’s hips, Steve rolled into him, forcing Bucky onto his front. He used one hand to brace himself on the bed above Bucky’s head, covering him, creating a tiny world of flesh and skin. His other hand slid down to Bucky’s leg, caught above the knee and pulled it sideways, making Bucky spread his legs, the angle making him tense on the knot inside him so strongly Bucky cried out and arched helplessly under Steve.

“Make you come, just like this,” Steve promised, “from my knot inside you. Gonna breed you, pretty,” he started fucking into Bucky again, faster now, harder, not as careful as before, “Fill you up, drive you wild on my knot, make you all mine.” 

Bucky panted, each thrust pushing the breath out of him, making pleasure spread from the point of connection. It felt so good, so incredibly good. The stretch, Steve's voice, the fullness and the mind blowing pleasure. He wanted more of it, more of Steve, but all he could do was moan and spread his legs like Steve wanted him too. 

“Waited so long, so fucking long, but you’re mine now,” Steve promised. “Don’t have to wait any more. Ever again, god; love you, Buck.”

“I know,” Bucky moaned, squirming on Steve’s cock, trying to press himself back into him, trying to make Steve fuck him harder, give him that little bit more. “Steve,” he begged, pleaded. He was so close he could feel it. Every muscle was tense, his body hot, pleasure filling him to the brim, but not cresting. He was achingly hard, cock full and sensitive to every brush against the sheets, dribbling out continuously, but there was little stimulation. The position Steve had Bucky in kept his hips off the bed enough so it was only occasionally that it brushed against the bedding. A tease, rather than any help.

Steve was fucking him harder, faster, and it was so good. It was everything Bucky wanted, everything he needed. So perfect, but exhaustion was pulling at him, keeping his orgasm out of his reach. The momentum kept building, his prostate sending shocks of pleasure through his system every single time Steve dragged his knot over it. Yet, it wasn’t enough. Bucky was gasping and whining, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes as he strained to press himself closer, to tighten that little bit more on Steve’s cock, to get that _something_ more. Whatever would let him come.

“Never gonna get enough,” Steve gasped, “Not ever. You’re so incredible, tight and hot and so sensitive. Can tell how much you love it, love it when I touch you, tease you, fuck you. God, _I_ love it, love how much you want me.”

“Steve, Steve,” Bucky begged, “so good. Steve, Alpha, please.” A sob tore from his chest. “Please, need…more… Please, Alpha, please.”

Steve curled over Bucky, locking his teeth over the back of Bucky’s neck, biting down. Sparks of conflicting feelings sailed down Bucky’s back, pleasure and fear, submission and anger. All that, and Bucky lowered his head and gave in to Steve, letting him fuck, letting him bite and express his dominance. The only thing Bucky could do was whimper and moan and beg for more.

“I will, I will, shh,” Steve muttered against his skin, panting harshly.

Releasing his leg, sliding his hand under Bucky’s chest, Steve’s fingers brushed his nipples. They were hard and sensitive, making Bucky jerk with pleasure just from that light touch. Then he caught one nipple. At first he just held it between his fingers, lightly massaging, his hips speeding up, the thrusts growing harder and harsher, letting Bucky feel some of the power his body was capable of. 

Bucky was gasping with each thrust, the sound pushed out of him, not noticing that Steve was slowly tightening his hold on his nipple. It passed from unnoticeable, to definitely present, to something that wasn’t quite painful and provided a strong, steady sensation, like a string being pulled tighter and tighter. With every thrust, Bucky's body was jerked enough that that his chest was tugging against that firm hold, pulling at his nipple, sending a sharp jolt of sensation through him, winding that string tighter and tighter. The feeling pushed everything thought out of Bucky's head, leaving only white-hot pleasure and that powerful inescapable presence of Steve’s cock inside him, an intimate point of connection. 

Each thrust scraped over his prostate, building up the pleasure, each thrust jerked him against that hold on his nipple, and Bucky’s body gave in abruptly. The tension breaking so sharply, so suddenly, he sobbed through his orgasm. Steve didn’t stop fucking him, making Bucky’s spasm harsher, tormenting his prostate, even while Bucky was still squirming and twitching with contractions, his cock spilling meager amounts of clear fluid now. It made the orgasm last and last. And it just wasn't stopping, just going on and on as Steve thrust faster, sharper, shallower, doing nothing but grinding himself against Bucky, his prostate, biting at his neck like a man possessed.

Bucky had no idea if he’d had one orgasm or ten, only that it wasn’t stopping and he was making so much noise - begging and pleading and yelling, breathless and weak - until everything went black again.

\---

Bucky woke up twice more, each time spooned tightly by Steve, being petted and soothed, with his ass full of Steve’s knot. It was always so big, so hard, stretching him and connecting them together, holding Bucky in place. He was so sore he was almost crying each time Steve would thrust in, but still wanting so much. 

Wanting, and Steve was there. Gentle and cruel, calm and wild. He would pet Bucky into serenity, then bite him like an animal, pressing bruises into his hips, into his shoulders, as he fucked Bucky however long it took to make him come. He spilled himself into Bucky, filling him up with come, easing the ache inside his belly, leaving him filthy and satisfied. So patient, he always waiting on Bucky to wake, always asking what Bucky wanted, and always, always delivering. 

It wasn’t like before, like his other heats with other Alphas. Steve never once left, his knot never once came down, it always there, filling him so large it hurt just right. It made Bucky realise just how different Steve was. Made him understand, really understand, that what he had known before wasn’t anything like it should have been. Though Bucky always believed that bonding felt good, but what he had experienced didn’t hold a candle to this. To the sheer amount of pleasure swamping Bucky again and again. 

Pleasure that Steve gave freely. No asking, no bartering needed. Pleasure Steve was prepared to give for however long it took for Bucky’s heat to end. He didn’t once suggest he leave Bucky to get over it alone. Steve was there, with him, the whole time. Was there when Bucky asked to be fucked into another orgasm just from Steve’s cock, held him patiently as Bucky cursed and begged and cried from the slowly building tension and frustration, and never once broke until Bucky came so hard he literally passed out. Held him close, so gentle, and so fiercely, until Bucky’s mind was full only of him. He was _there_ , just behind his ear, speaking praise and offering filthy suggestions, making Bucky almost crawl out of his skin with desire.

Steve was there and he was going to stay there, and Bucky was never, ever letting him go. The bond had been a _good_ choice, the perfect choice. It would keep them tied together, would give Bucky a connection to another human that he’d always feared. It wasn’t terrifying though, and Bucky didn’t need to guard himself against it because it was everything he wanted. 

He just hadn’t known he had.

\---

When Bucky woke for the last time, Steve was still wrapped around him. Steve had tangled their legs together, an arm beneath him wrapped around his waist, holding them close. The other was absently stroking along his side, over his stomach, his hips and thigh. Caressing, petting, slow and easy. The bond was swimming with his sated happiness and a warm fluffy, fullness that was so… comforting and so much more than Bucky thought someone could feel. 

Steve’s cock was still inside him, Bucky could feel it slowly softening. The knot no longer stretched him, but Steve still gave him that pleasantly full sensation. Bucky was very sore, they had fucked for hours and hours and he had been knotted the whole time. Even his super healing wouldn’t be taking care of that in an instant.

“Stealth cuddling me?” Bucky asked, teasing, but also a little amused at how thoroughly Steve had wrapped about him. A bit like an octopus.

“Nothing stealthy about me,” Steve replied, flattening against Bucky’s back as though he thought Bucky might try to pull away, “That’s more your speed, Sergeant Sneaky Boots.”

Bucky laughed, wrapping his hand over Steve’s arm about his waist. The laughter faded, though, when he felt Steve’s relief. There were so _many_ emotions, more buried under all that warm, contentment. Relief, apprehension, amusement… Bucky could have spent hours chasing down Steve’s emotions, following the threads, now that he knew they existed. And there were so many, and all at once. It was…exhausting and he couldn’t even name everything Steve was feeling.

“I think it’s over,” Bucky said, feeling strangely, unaccountably sad that it was. As much as the knot had hurt after a while, it was something that kept Steve close, made him stay with Bucky.

Steve hummed, pressing even closer, keeping their hips tightly together.

“I think so,” he agreed, still caressing Bucky, “but I’m not going anywhere, pretty.”

It was time to separate their bodies, though. Usually, after so much sex with slick everywhere, all Bucky wanted was to be in the shower immediately. He always hated the feeling of being wet and stick, was all too eager to wash it all out, though he knew that Alphas liked it; the way it mingled their scents together, made Bucky smell of them. There was something very primal in them that brought them pleasure in everyone knowing they had done this, that they could watch an Omega be wrecked open like that. Usually, Bucky took a vicious kind of pleasure in denying that satisfaction to any Alpha he had ever slept with, a tiny rebellion, sometimes the only one he was capable of. This time, he felt none of that.

Bucky could feel Steve’s want. Not sexual, that had been sated as had Bucky’s, but for a sign of belonging, a sign of possession. All the hickeys and small bites Steve had left on him had been long-healed, as were the deep bruises he had left on his hips. Besides the bonding bite, there weren’t many marks on Bucky to prove to Steve, to anyone, Steve had had him, possessed him, mated him as well as he had promised. Bucky had his proof in the fact Steve was still there, but Steve didn’t have that…and wouldn’t ask for it. Bucky could feel it, too, how careful Steve was, even now, not to hurt him.

It struck him as unfair that he got absolutely everything he wanted from Steve, but Steve didn’t want to presume, was afraid to push for more from Bucky. Was he really that awful that Steve would be afraid to ask for something that was such a part of his designation?

“You’re upset,” Steve murmured, “Why are you upset?”

“You want something,” Bucky said, twisting to look at Steve. “You aren’t asking.”

Steve blinked at him very slowly.

“You’re upset I’m not asking?”

“Yes,” Bucky confirmed.

A warm, almost gentle feeling fluttered through Steve, followed by resolve.

“You, I mean,” Steve cleared his throat, “Okay. I want to ask you… I’m not... If you… I mean, I won’t be upset if you say no. Just… I want to…” 

Steve hesitated, but still trying to ask. It drove home the fact that Steve hadn’t done this before. Not with an Omega in heat, not with anyone.

“You want proof of what we did,” Bucky offered slowly, “See your marks on me, smell your come on me, see it leaking out of me.”

The soft, fluttery sensation again, but also muted desire and possessiveness. So much, and all at once. How did Steve _think_ all the time and as much as he did when he _felt_ so much? How did he control it all?

“Yes,” Steve said very quietly, as if ashamed of his desires, but he wasn’t feeling shame, just uncertainty mixed with all the rest when Bucky went searching for it.

Bucky twisted towards him a little more, stretching to press his lips against his jaw, careful not to dislodge the softening cock inside him.

“You can look.” Bucky reached for Steve’s hand and led it where their bodies were still connected. “You can touch,” he whispered gently. “You can ask for whatever you want, Steve,” Bucky promised. “The worst that can happen is I say no.” Bucky let go of Steve’s hand as he felt him take over, “but that’s not really probable, since I usually like whatever you want to do with me anyways.”

“Haven’t done much to you yet,” Steve murmured and Bucky laughed because he had, really, “but okay. I’ll try.”

Bucky felt Steve start to pull out then. It didn’t so much hurt as reawaken all the soreness of his body, reminded him of the fact that he had been knotted for _hours_ , fucked so many times he had problems remembering them all. His ass protested even the soft removal of Steve’s cock and Bucky hissed quietly as it slipped free. He was a mess already, but that only added to it as come and slick rushed out. Gasping, Steve… Steve was leaning back, looking, staring at the abused aching ring of muscle that wasn’t closing properly. At how much of a mess there was and how it was all leaking out of him… 

And Bucky blushed.

“Bucky,” Steve murmured, voice dropping registers into an Alpha growl and sending another shiver down Bucky’s back. Helplessly, Bucky spread his legs more, rolling to lie on his stomach, giving Steve space to move, to look, to do whatever he needed, or wanted, to do. Steve had given Bucky all that Bucky wanted, it was time to give something back.

Gentle fingers brushed his hole. Just the pads of his fingers running over the sensitive skin. Quietly, Bucky whimpered.

“I… I can?” Steve whispered, but it wasn’t uncertainty this time, it was surprise. A pleasant surprise, along with that fluttery feeling. Only, it wasn’t soft. It was full, almost unexpected. And there was more, always more…warmth, swelling and growing and bleeding into Bucky until he couldn’t tell if it was his emotion or Steve’s.

“Yeah,” Bucky blurted, still blushing for whatever unknown reason. He had begged his Alpha to fuck him in different positions throughout the night and had never blushed. Now he was blushing and feeling shy, like a damned virgin.

Steve dipped his finger past the rim, just the tip, but it was enough to make Bucky hiss. Steve pulled back and Bucky was ready to call him back, but Steve shushed him. Felt his need and reacted, like no one ever had.

“I have a better idea,” Steve promised, quickly gaining confidence, “It won’t hurt, I promise,”

Whining, though he wasn’t in heat, Bucky felt Steve move, sliding down his back, and then felt the cool, careful fouch of his tongue over his abused hole. Bucky’s breath hitched and broke on a surprised moan. He had no idea what to feel, how to react. He wasn’t in heat any more, didn’t even want sex, for once completely sated. He couldn’t feel any true sexual desire from Steve either, but this, what Steve was doing felt so sexual, so intimate, he wasn’t sure what to do. Chest tight, he floundered helplessly until he found he didn’t have to be.

Steve’s emotions were still clear. 

They were strong, powerful. The bond was wide open, fierce and pulsing with everything Steve felt, the possessiveness that should have made Bucky rage, only left him pleased and happy, tolerant like he had never been before. Steve was taking something no Alpha had ever been given, was touching Bucky in ways he abhorred, but it felt _good_. It felt nice to let his Alpha do this. It was trust, Bucky realised, lying there so open and vulnerable, letting Steve lick at him, long, slow, and careful brushes of his tongue that soothed the reddened skin. 

“Steve,” he whispered, now as shy as Steve was when he had asked to touch. “I never…” Bucky swallowed once, twice, before continuing. “I never let any Alpha do this before,” he said finally, suddenly desperate for Steve to know that this was his, only his. Steve wasn’t the first to fuck him, there had been were so many before him, but even if they’d had Bucky’s body, they’d never had this. He never allowed them this close, never allowed them any proof. It was such a small, insignificant thing, but it was all he had to offer, the only thing nobody else got from him before.

From the fierce rush of possessiveness and warmth, followed by gratitude tinged with sorrow, he thought Steve understood.

Steve shifted from behind him, kissing his back, then his shoulder, pulling at him to turn over and look at him. When Bucky did, Steve just kept pulling until he had Bucky wrapped up in his arms as tightly as he could. With arms and legs and doing his best to tuck Bucky’s head under his chin.

“You know, I never thought people were born with enough arms,” Steve said quietly.

Bucky blinked, surprised by the sudden change of topic, but sensing Steve’s gentle amusement and game to follow his lead. To not be made to talk about what he’d said, he didn’t expect it, but it was nice. Steve just accepting his words and moving on.

“Yeah? How many would be enough then?”

Steve shifted himself, unbelievably, closer.

“At least four,” he declared firmly.

“What would you need four arms for?” Bucky pressed his nose into Steve’s neck. His beard was coming in, the skin slightly scratchy already.

Steve laughed quietly, the bond humming with so many feelings Bucky didn’t have the energy to sort through them.

“One to play with your hair,” Steve said, and had he actually thought this out? “One to hold you close, by your waist, another by your shoulders. The last to grab your ass.”

Bucky laughed out loud at that.

“So, you’re saying your unrealised childhood dream is to be a lecherous octopus?” he asked, amused.

“Not _childhood_ , exactly,” Steve said with a quiet chuckle, “but dreams are important. Don’t mock my dreams.”

Bucky shifted so that he lay more comfortably in Steve’s arms and shifted his leg to lay over Steve’s hip, pushing them even closer together.

“You can touch more, if you want,” Bucky offered quietly, knowing it was all about scent to the Alphas. They were, supposedly, ten times more sensitive to it than any other designation.

Steve hesitated, but only for a moment before his hand slid down to Bucky’s ass, at first just covering the swollen hole before two fingers skimmed over it and lower, over his balls and his sticky thighs. It was all about scent and, consciously or not, Steve was rubbing his own scent, the scent of his come into Bucky’s skin. If Bucky didn’t spend two hours in a heavily scented bath, then everybody and their aunt would be able to smell it on him for days. He was surprisingly okay with that.

“You know, if you want to come on my missions, you just have to ask,” Steve said, apropos of nothing. “I kept you away, because of your issues with Fury. Not… Not because I didn’t want you around.”

Bucky looked up at Steve, careful not to dislodge his roaming hand.

“I have a perfect homing beacon on you now,” Bucky said, knowing he would sound satisfied as all hell, “Nobody can take you now, not without my knowledge. I will find you _anywhere_.”

Laughing, Steve rolled his eyes, exasperated, yet fondly so. God, he was weird. Bucky had never felt so charmed.

“Fair,” he said quietly, “um, well,” he blew out a breath, “the suppressants…”

“You promised,” Bucky began, but stopped as Steve’s emotions went flat, and what the hell was that? Except, when he looked at his face, he was wearing that damned over-thinking expression.

“You don’t have to take them,” Steve said, “but we’ll need to figure out your schedule so we don’t bother the others.”

“I don’t care about suppressants now,” Bucky said quickly.

It was the oddest thing to feel _and_ see Steve do a doubletake.

“What? You nearly bit my head off last time I mentioned suppressants.” Steve sounded bewildered, but felt a little angry as well. “You said you hated taking them.”

“Yes,” Bucky agreed before immediately backpedalling when he felt hurt join the rest of Steve’s emotions. “I mean no.” Bucky shook his head, trying to find the proper words now that he realised how easy it was for Steve to feel, well, anything, but especially hurt. “I didn’t know then,” Bucky said quietly. 

“Know…what?” Steve asked, carefully, his emotions clear, but still _flat_ in a way Bucky thought he would grow to hate.

“That you feel this much. That you doubt yourself so often. It seemed so easy to me; you either want something, or you don’t. Nothing in between. I didn’t know you didn’t feel that way. There are so many things, through the bond, I… I don’t think I even understand them all but, I didn’t know, Steve,” he said plaintively, wishing he knew how to communicate properly all he had learned in the last twenty minutes.

Steve lifted a hand, combing it through Bucky’s hair.

“It’ll be easier now,” he said quietly, “to talk to each other and understand what we mean, but you’re still going to need to trust what I say. I mean,” he smiled sweetly, “you believe me now, right?”

Bucky eyed him, somewhat wary, sensing a trap. “Yes?” he said cautiously, like a cat lured to a cat carrier with snacks but knowing the owner would try to take him to the vet soon.

Huffing, Steve tugged lightly at Bucky’s hair.

“I’m not trying to make you say something. We just… You yelled a lot of things at me we have to work out. I’m not trying to push you, or pressure you, but we can’t go back there, at least not for the same reasons.”

Bucky shifted, leaning back to look at Steve more easily.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because I hurt you,” Steve swallowed, brushing his fingers along Bucky’s jaw, “because it hurt me, too.”

Bucky frowned at Steve's words, thinking back to the argument, the way he had felt then. It was true he’d been hurt and he remembered seeing that hurt on Steve’s face, but feeling it now was something different. Knowing he’d meant what he’d said, though Bucky knew he had likely not understood it all did make sense of things.

“I listened to your words, that sounded like mine, but I watched you actions and they spoke differently. I read you through my own reasons, took your hesitation as rejection and I got so angry. The rejection hurt, and Steve, very few things hurt me, so I started lashing out at everything you said. I was hurting and I wanted you to hurt too, since you were rejecting me either way.”

“I wasn’t...” Steve started to say and he was still feeling so _much_ , the flatness vanishing. Guilt and hurt and why? Why, when it wasn’t his fault?

“I know,” Bucky interrupted, “now, but I’m listening now. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“And I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Steve said quickly, combing his hand through Bucky’s hair again, “but it will be easier now. We don’t think about things the same way, but the bond will help make things clearer.”

“It didn’t occur to me you think differently, feel differently. I’m sorry for the things I said.” Steve closed his eyes. “If you ask me to take suppressants now, I will, okay? I know you didn’t mean to push the responsibility on me, control me.”

“Bucky,” Steve started, eyes still closed, his emotions fluttering like a wildfire. Still the guilt, but less hurt, and also relief and a strange, deep frustration. 

“But you don’t like them?” Steve pressed. “The suppressants?”

Bucky sighed.

“No, I don't,” Bucky admitted. “They make me feel strange, irritable. I spent most of my life off suppressants, only took them for certain missions, and the last years in S.H.I.E.L.D. custody were also completely without them. I like it, the way it sharpens my senses when I’m off them, the way not having them in my system keeps my enemies off-guard. You have no idea how many times I won fights because my opponent was too stunned by getting a faceful of heat hormones.”

Sighing, Steve shook his head, now exasperated and amused along with all the rest.

“Pretty,” Steve said gently, “if you’d told me this in the first -. Look, I love you, all right? No suppressants, not unless you think you need them, or you think I need you to be on them, we just need to get your schedule right. So we don’t bother the others.”

Bucky grumbled at the idea of having to care about bothering others and furrowed his brow.

“I have no idea what my schedule will be now,” he admitted. “Bond,” he reminded Steve when he felt the total blankness from his Alpha. 

“I _know_ ,” Steve huffed at him, all the emotions surging back at once, and fuck there was so _much_. “We’ll figure it out and… What’s… What’s wrong?”

“How can you even function like that?” Bucky asked, bewildered.

“Like… What?”

“All those...things, feelings! There are so _many_! Seriously, how can you even think when all that is swimming in your head all the time?”

“I just…” Steve smiled slowly, the strong emotions abruptly shifting to pleasure. “Why do you think I think all the time? I don’t want to make sure I’m not being irrational. It’s not _just_ all those bad things you think.”

“It seems like a ridiculous waste of time and effort,” Bucky muttered, hooking his knee higher over Steve’s hip. 

Both of Steve’s eyebrows went up, but he wasn’t judging, the way Bucky had thought that expression meant. He was amused. Or so it seemed. To Bucky, the bond was a bit like having his ear pressed to a hive with a million emotions swirling and buzzing inside. It was a miracle he recognized as many as he did. This was a surprise, though, Steve wasn’t judging him, condemning him, as often as he thought he did.

“You aren’t the only one who’s angry a lot,” Steve said, “but if I let that control me, I tend to say a lot of things I don’t mean.”

Bucky snorted.

“Anger gives me strength, power. It gives me focus, but I don't have a thousand other emotions clamoring at me every second of the day so I guess it’s different for me.”

Leaning back in, Steve kissed him on the nose.

“Exactly.”

“Maybe you can start showing your anger for what it is, instead of trying to dress it nicely as not to offend people.”

“That’s what you think I’m doing? I let myself get mad, Buck, I just don’t let it control what I say. Except for our fight, when I said some things I regret saying.”

Bucky hummed a little, not agreeing or arguing. Through their conversation, Steve had continued to touch him, rubbing his fingers between Bucky’s thighs, rubbing his release into Bucky’s skin with warm, careful fingers. It wasn’t a prelude to sex, but it was intimate. He shifted his hips a bit, spreading his legs a little and encouraging Steve, silently, to get back to touching his hole. It was still very swollen, very sore, and every brush of Steve’s fingers sent little shocks of pain and pleasure up Bucky’s spine. He liked it.

Almost instinctively, Steve obeyed his desires and dragged his fingers up between his cheeks to the place where they had been connected for so long. Distantly Bucky felt a little sad that they were over the heat. He would have liked to have Steve put his cock inside him again. Not even to fuck, just to have it there, inside him, hot and heavy and filling him up.

“You’re distracting me,” Steve accused.

Bucky hummed again, relaxed and happy.

Chuckling, Steve kept petting him, kept touching him just how he enjoyed. Bucky wondered if Steve felt that too, that need for connection, for touch. Felt as if even hours of sex wasn’t quite enough to quench that desire completely. 

“So, no more suppressants?” Steve prompted.

“No more,” Bucky agreed, rubbing his face against Steve’s shoulder, relishing in the smooth skin and hard muscle beneath.

Steve hummed this time, pleased and content, no more flatness.

“You want to talk about the pack? Tony?”

Bucky closed his eyes for a moment, not letting himself get out of that smooth, relaxed place.

“I knew about the pack before I came back, it wasn’t a surprise,” he hedged. 

Yes, it made him angry at times to smell Steve on other people, but underneath it all he didn’t want to have Steve change. He had chosen Steve the way he was, and that was it for him. He wouldn’t ask for Steve to change anything. Maybe now that they were bonded, the scent wouldn’t bother him that much, or at all?

“But you’re at odds with Tony,” Steve pointed out, leaning in and nuzzling under Bucky’s jaw, “and I thought everything would be all right, if given enough time. Can I at least assure you that I don’t want him?”

“I believe you,” Bucky said, because he did. He knew Steve wasn’t fucking the other Omega. The scent thing he would try to get used to, as he’d thought before, the bond would probably help, giving Bucky an eternal upper hand over any other Omega. Yet Steve didn’t understand, his eyebrows drawing together as confusion laced the bond.

“At the time you were rejecting me,” Bucky offered, since Steve was so set on him disclosing more, “Tony was smelling more like you and fucking cuddling with you on the couch, claiming compatibility. So yeah, Tony was very much a threat.”

“But it’s…all right now?” Steve asked hesitantly. “Tony and I are compatible, but we’re just friends. I’ve never been in love with him. You and I are compatible, but I have been head over heels for you since our first plane ride.”

Bucky grinned, looking from under his lashes at Steve, pleased with Steve’s admission. He ran his metal fingers over Steve’s back, making him shiver slightly.

“I have no idea what to think of the whole compatibility issue,” he confessed. “When I told Michael about it, he all but blew a gasket at me, yelling about how rare it was to find a compatible partner. Yet here you are all but drowning in compatibile Omegas.”

Steve tilted his head to the side, then rolled his neck and made himself comfortable on the pillow. His hands, however, weren’t getting comfortable, or relaxing. Very carefully, slowly, he worked two fingers inside Bucky, but not fucking him, just leaving them there. Filling Bucky, making some of that lingering need fade. It felt good, a little achy, but pleasant. Close. Intimate. Having Steve inside him again, Bucky hummed, breathing out a tiny moan and wondering if he could convince Steve to try and put his cock inside him, even as soft as it was at the moment. Bucky thought he would like that. Would like Steve slowly working his soft cock inside him with his fingers, would like the way it would feel inside his abused hole, all soft and vulnerable but still there, still inside him, connecting them.

“There’s not a lot of science on it, even these days,” Steve said, voice low and husky, “but the moment I smelled you, I knew. I knew if I made you mine, like you are now, we’d be… It’s hard to explain to anyone who hasn’t felt it. It’s… I knew I could love you. I knew you could love me. That doesn’t mean it’s meant to be. I’m compatible with Tony, but he was already bonded to Pepper when we met. I was compatible with a woman during the war, Peggy Carter, but she…” The bond flooded with grief and regret that faded to a dull ache when Steve took a deep breath. “She’s in her nineties now, but had a great life.”

Bucky frowned, not completely happy with the explanation. He closed his eyes and pushed his ass back at Steve’s hand, taking Steve’s fingers deeper, relishing the burn.

“It seems kind of an asshole thing to do to anybody. Give them a promise like that and take it away.”

Steve sighed.

“Tell me about it.”

Bucky hooked his knee higher on Steve’s hip and rolled them over, ending atop Steve. He shifted, making himself comfortable on the muscular chest, folding his flesh hand under his chin so that he wouldn’t be digging the hard bone into Steve’s solar plexus. He gave a quick lick to the nearest nipple before settling down to lie comfortably on all that flesh.

“Add one more finger,” he murmured closing his eyes.

Steve exhaled, a little shocked, a little pleased, and carefully put his other hand on Bucky’s ass. Spreading his cheeks, he carefully worked in a third finger. Bucky gave a small gasp, shivering with a muted kind of pleasure, the tiny sting just making it better, and relaxed into the touch.

“Thing about it is, though,” Steve said, arms flexing until he could comfortably keep his fingers and Bucky in place, “it took me a while to figure out all that doesn’t matter. You still get the choice, to love or not.” Steve took a shaky breath. “Jesus, I can’t think with you so…” 

Pushing his fingers deeper, making the stretch more noticeable, Steve closed his eyes and Bucky gasped and shivered.

“Alphas are so strange,” Bucky murmured, lazy and calm, and so damned pleased with himself, and with Steve. He had done well, choosing Steve, bonding with Steve.

“How’s that strange?” Steve asked, amused again even as his eyebrows went up. All right, so maybe he hadn’t been reading Steve perfectly all this time.

“You have all those weird problems, the compatibility, the decisions to love, or not love someone. I just want, and it’s enough.”

Steve laughed, pressing a sloppy kiss to his lips.

“I love you, too,” he murmured.

Bucky hummed, half-asleep again. “You think you could fuck me again?” he asked drowsily.

“Seriously?” Steve questioned, but didn’t wait for Bucky’s nod before he sighed, “No, probably not for a little while. I’ve never been hard that long before.” Steve’s fingers curled, then pressed against Bucky’s prostate. “Think I might be able to take care of you, though.”

“Hmm, that’s a pity,” Bucky arched a little under the touch, the sensation sharp and honestly too much. “Just wanted you inside me.”

Smiling, Steve slowly uncurled his fingers and nodded.

“I can do that.”

Bucky debated answering, but he was warm, and comfortable, and so relaxed. Managing an agreeable hum, he pressed his cheek to Steve’s chest and sighed. The steady thump of Steve’s heartbeat, the warmth of his body, not to mention his emotions, were a surprising lullaby. Before he realized what was happening, he was asleep again.

\----

Bucky had his kitchen stocked quite well, but it wasn’t enough for both of them. After cleaning up and demolishing his food supplies, Steve had decided they needed to move to the common kitchen on the rec floor because they were both still hungry as hell. Admittedly, they’d also know when the team came back. He’d managed not to ask JARVIS how they were doing, and that wasn’t as difficult as it had been before, not with Bucky at his side, taking his attention.

“Captain,” JARVIS said after Steve had made pasta with asparagus and a creamy tomato sauce, and chicken, “The Avenger’s have arrived home from their mission. No major injuries.”

Bucky looked up at him, the easy relaxation of before gone in an instant. It was startling, feeling his contentment shift to wariness, nervousness, and anger. The latter, at least, wasn’t as strong as the rest. 

“Thank you, JARVIS,” Steve answered before focusing on Bucky, “What’s the matter? Sorry,” he corrected when he felt Bucky’s irritation and frustration, “You’re on edge. What do you expect is going to happen when they get down here?”

Surprise filtered through the bond before Bucky answered and Steve smiled.

“They are going to be happy for us,” Steve assured him, “if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“No, they will blame me,” Bucky answered, a thread of coldness in his voice or maybe his emotions. Steve had a hard time separating the understanding he was processing from how Bucky acted, what he said, and what Steve was feeling from him through the bond.

“A good thing to be blamed for, Bucky,” Steve said, trying to keep calm even as he marveled at how much he understood Bucky now, “or did something else happen after I left?”

“You’ll see.”

Steve didn’t quite understand what Bucky meant, but he reached for him anyways. Rubbing his hand over Bucky’s, he then clasped it and brought it to his lips. He how he affected Bucky, how much the physical contact caught his attention. It was so strong, so deep. Steve had no idea touch could affect Bucky so much, on such a primal level. No wonder Bucky framed so many things in terms of _want_ and _touch_.

“All right,” he agreed, “but no matter what happens, I’m with you.”

The smile Bucky offered him was fleeting, but that was clearly not what Bucky was worried about. They didn’t get any more time to , though. The elevator doors open and the Avengers marched in. Sam was first, followed by Nat and Clint, Bruce and Tony in the back. Thor wasn’t there, so they hadn’t been able to contact him again.

Sam took one look at Steve and Bucky, sitting calmly side by side, then at their hands. Clint’s eyes went straight there, then he rolled them and shook his head. What he felt from Bucky didn’t change so he expected that reaction from Clint it seemed.

“Finally,” he muttered, dropping into the chair on Bucky’s other side. Flanking him, Steve realized, which meant Bucky wasn’t the only one who thought something was about to go down. 

“I need a shower,” Natasha declared, loudly but she walked to them first. She kissed Steve on the cheek, making him flush with embarrassment, then did the same to Bucky. Bucky was still, maybe a little surprised at Natasha, but mostly still waiting. 

“Finally what?” Tony asked, but he was watching Natasha, knowing her overly-affectionate gesture meant _something_.

Steve squeezed Bucky’s hand.

“We bonded. JARVIS says the mission was a success. What happened?”

“Who cares what happened,” Tony said, eyes wide, approaching them both slowly. “You two actually…went through with it?”

Though what Steve wanted was to show off Bucky’s mark, he tilted his own head instead. Thanks to their superior healing, it was already scarred over. A perfect oval of Bucky’s teeth. Tony gasped and Sam sighed, but the later came to sit with them at the island which meant he had shit to say, but would support their choice.

“Yeah, Tony,” Steve said, holding back his amusement as best he could so the Omega wouldn’t think he was being laughed at, “We worked it out.”

“Told you Steve could take care of it,” Bucky murmured, a challenging tilt to his head and his hooded eyes. Steve sighed, and nipped at Bucky’s knuckles because now Bucky was baiting Tony, but in the end, he only kicked Bucky under the table. Bucky and Tony needed to work this out between them, no matter how much they were acting like two kids fighting.

Tony rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t think it ever was a matter of ability,” Tony said sarcastically, “It was more if you’d get your head out of your ass. Looks like it, though.” Tilting his head, he showed Bucky his own bond mark before tapping it. “That’s a much better look on you anyway.”

Bucky didn’t answer, but some of the coldness left him. He wasn’t open or relaxed by any means, but there was no obvious challenge in him now. Steve breathed a small sigh of relief as Bruce took Natasha’s cue and left for his own floor. Everyone had dispersed, or sat down to eat, accepting the news. There was Sam, making ‘we will talk later’ eyes, and Bucky was still side-eying Tony, but overall everybody had taken this new development well. Bucky was still wary, still riding an edge of fight-or-flight, but Steve didn’t think that would change anytime soon. It was a heart-breaking thing to know that so intimately, though, just now close to that primal response Bucky maintained himself. So different from when they’d been together in his room. Hydra had stripped so many layers from him, he acted and existed on pure instinct. 

Though he was wary, Bucky was still here, eating with them and carefully relaxing. Not like he had been with Steve, nowhere near it, but these were the first steps to accepting the pack. Bucky liked Clint, Steve hadn’t been aware of how much until now, with the bond humming acceptance when Bucky leaned over to offer Clint a bite of Steve’s cooking. It would take time, and a lot more effort on everybody's part, but Steve was they could become a team and remain a family. 

Nudging Bucky under the table, he caught his eyes and felt the awareness sweep through his bondmate at his touch. He smiled, and Bucky rolled his eyes at him, but he smiled as well.

Yeah, everything was going to be fine.

 

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is it folks! The last chapter full of smut and fluff you waited for :) We hope you liked it!  
> Come and visit us on Tumblr
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> [Cleo4u2](http://cleo4u2.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> Come and visit us on Tumblr
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**Works inspired by this one:**

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  * [SHIELD's prisoner](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8177302) by [cobaltmoony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobaltmoony/pseuds/cobaltmoony)
  * [Podfic: Heat Stroke](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10934673) by [cleo4u2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleo4u2/pseuds/cleo4u2)




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